


What Conquers All

by moesilva13



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moesilva13/pseuds/moesilva13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Bilbo may have told the truth in his novel "There and Back Again", he may not have told you all of it. He saved the most important details for last: The 15th member of Thorin's company was a halfbreed named Aryn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is also posted on FF.net for those of you that frequent that site.

It began long ago, in a land far away to the East, the like of which you will not find in the world today. There was the city of Dale, it's markets known far and wide, full of the bounties of fine and vale, peaceful and prosperous. It was home to one very special little girl-a Halfling.

Not a Halfling as in the Hobbits of the Shire, no, Aryn was one of a kind. The first of her kind. Her father, Karan, was a dwarf of Moria, and seemed content to mine his life away. But the one time, the only time he left their gates for the outside world, it was the last time he ever saw home.

Elliya was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, a forbidden fruit in an Elf's body. They met be accident, and could have easily looked the other way, but fate would not allow one of these two to go unnoticed by the other. Their courtship was simple, humble, and the beginning of something unbreakable.

Their decision to marry was unheard of, and began an uproar amongst the two cities of Moria and Rivendell. Elliya was a prominent figure from a respected family, and her King would be damned if he let her be swept away by the likes of a Dwarf. Lord Elrond was furious but failed to stop love. Karan was quite the opposite, a mere miner whose status was minute. But his disappearance did not go unnoted, and whispers spread through the caves like wildfire of a dwarf who deserted his kind for the love of an elf.

For the safety of their spouse, man and wife left their homes to start a new life free from oppression and opposition. They settled in the human city of Dale, where Elliya could receive praise for her jewelry, and Karan arose a smithery. Amongst the dizzying happiness of their so-called paradise, fate would interfere again. Both the Elves and Dwarves had only protested mildly because they were sure that the species, seperated by biology, would be unable to bear children. They could let the couple's treachery disappear into legend with no evidence of the affair aside from hear-telling. But they all had been so wrong. This tiny bundle of life with a shock of auburn hair and pointed ears, was proof that love alone is capable of performing miracles. Defying what was thought to be fact, and born out of intentions so pure, their baby girl marked the beginning of an alliance between two races formerly destined for hate.

But for such a blessing the price was almost unsurmountable. Karan and Elliya had given up everything to be together, and custom was once again breathing down their necks. If the humans, however unbiased they claimed to be, were to discover the Halfling's heritage, she might be driven out or even killed. The couple became migrant while Elliya carried their child, but coming home with a child and no story that made sense would mean disaster and disgrace. So they lied and told the community that she was an abandoned Hobbit, a statement no one would question with the child's pointed ears and tiny body. She was even given the surname Olivebranch to distinguish her apart from her adoptive parents.

"...it means peace." Karan purred while stroking the softly furred head of his daughter, her green eyes peering up at him with unrestrained innocence.

Elliya adjusted the bundle in her arms, pressing the infant closer to her breast. "So that the whole world will know what you were meant for. Even if you do not."

The young Aryn was a giant presence for such a small body: always laughing, never bored, and so thankful to be alive. Her parents were blessed with twenty more wonderful years, long enough to watch their precious Aryn become a young woman. She was only 3 and a half feet tall, stunted by unstable genes, yet her spirit seemed to scrape the clouds. Karan and Elliya couldn't be more proud to produce such a lovely creature. But fate was not so kind to them, and now that this most important piece of the future was grown, their services were no longer required.

Among the horizon, a dragon had come to rest his eyes on Dale, so perfectly nestled against the door to his prize: Erebor. The city under the mountain, overflowing with rivers of gold, would fall to him and their pleasant city would not go unscathed.

These years of peace and plenty were not to last. Slowly the days turned sour, and the watchful nights closed in. On the morning of Aryn's 20th birthday, the first noise they heard was a sound like a hurricane coming down from the north. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in the hot, dry wind.

Thorin, a young man at the time, approached the walls with a face of worry. "Sound the alarm. Call out the guards, do it now!"

"What is it?" Balin called back over the wind.

"Dragon. DRAGON!" He yelled into the corridor, covered up by the beast's ungodly screech.

He was a firedrake from the North-Smaug had come. Such wanton death was dealt that day, for this city of man was nothing to Smaug.

* * *

"Happy birthday, my beautiful baby." Karan beamed, rubbing a thick paw over his daughter's thin shoulder and leaning down to place a kiss on her crown.

"I think on this day, it's time for you hold onto this for me." He smiled, reaching behind his mane of brown hair to unclasp a necklace. Upon pulling it from his shirt strings, a teardrop emerald glimmered at the end of agolden chain.

Aryn gasped, throwing her hands up to her face. "Oh father, are you sure? Your mother gave that to you.."

"And it's yours now. I don't need it; you are my jewel."

The dwarf carefully clasped the chain behind her hair, pulling the strands out and over the piece of gold. "See? Both of my treasures are in one place now."

Aryn picked up the stone in her palm, rolling it and the diamonds that formed it's halo against her skin. "Thank you.. I cannot begin to describe what I feel.. I wish th-"

Grroowwwllllll.

Their happy moment was shattered, and the whole family turned with fear to the open window. Stone cracking and fire hissing could be heard in the distance, and a deafening roar that startled them all to cover their ears. Brave Aryn burst from her home at the first terrible screams, keen eyes darting around to search for the source of danger. Her pointed ears upturned to the sound of the alarm, a consonant chord among a dissonant air.

She turned to go back inside, meeting her parent's worried eyes only moments before there was a giant explosion of fire and dust. The impact threw her small body nearly across the street, and when she lifted her head to peer through the rubble, they were gone. Their house was a pile of broken stone and splintered wood, smoking with the makings of the burning building that had fallen upon it.

"MOTHER! FATHER!" She cried, her tiny voice cracking with the strain. Were it not for the houses that seemed to explode around her, Aryn would have clawed through the debri in desperation for a lost cause. Her legs bolted beneath her, and she took off in the direction away from the flames. The wind tore the tears from her eyes, and she blindly managed to pick up a sword from the wreckage of their business down the road. A pony without a rider tore across the path, breighing in fright when Aryn seized his reigns and hopped aboard.

Near the end of the street a child was spotted by the well, clutching the ropes and staring brokenly at the smoldering remains of what could have been a toy.

The Half-Elf's toned arms scooped up the girl, holding her as they managed to dodge a burst of the dragon's breath. The young girl clutched her tunic, sobbing into the rough material.

"Help me, please!"

"Yes, baby. I've got you." Aryn's strong arms balanced the girl in her elbow and managed to clutch the reigns of the galloping horse. "Where are your parents?"

"Oh, mommy! Daddy!" The child cried, pointing behind them at the inferno that Aryn assumed was their humble home.

"Oh my god.." The Halfling whispered in pain, holding someone's daughter close as they tore down the dusty road.

Aryn came upon a set of tied horses, frightened and neighing frantically for help. She set the girl atop the shaggy brown fur, and pried her fingers from her shirt to put them in the pony's mane.

"No, don't leave me! Take me with you!" The tiny stranger shrieked, attempting to jump down.

"No! You can't go where I'm going, it's too dangerous. Ride for the pastures outside the city. That is where the people will go." Aryn spoke while strapping the girls feet inside the stirrups.

"No, please. Don't leave me.." Her sobs hiccuped out of her, bubbling down in hot tears.

"Don't be afraid, little one. Everything will be all right. I promise.. Just get to the survivors along the river. Now go, baby. RUN!" The little girl nodded with tears streaming down her face, burying them in the thick mane when Aryn cut the animal free and it took off into a cloud of smoke.

Armed with a scorched sword and a skittish mount, Aryn ran to look for survivors. She herded a few frightened souls away from falling debri, and kept riding as fast as the animal could take her, dodging cracking stone and bundles of flame. After carrying a small boy and infant to other humans for help, she finally took off for the grasslands. Reaching safe, green grass, she peered down at her ruined home, and the plundering of her neighbors. Erebor was lost, for a dragon will guard his plunder as long as he lives.

Below, outside the smoldering gates, Thorin urged his people to scatter, and spotted the Elf King high on the ridge of the valley.

"Help us!" He called, pleading with desperate blue eyes. But Thranduil would not risk the lives of his kin against the wrath of the dragon. No help came from the Elves that day, or any day since.

Robbed of their homeland, the Dwarves of Erebor wandered the wilderness, a once mighty people brought low. the young Dwarf Prince took work where he could find it, laboring in the villages of men, but always he remembered the mountain smoke beneath the moon, the trees like torches blazing bright. He had seen dragon fire in the sky, and a city turned to ash. And he never forgave that he never forgot.

The now orphaned Halfling faired as such. The pastures were empty when she reached them. Her trained eyes scanned the ground, tracking hooves or footprints in the dirt, but there were none. No one besides herself had made it that far. She spun the pony around, looking for any survivors along the city walls. Only those few walking alone from the wreckage, counted on a single hand, were anywhere to be seen. Her breath came out in frantic pants, eyes scanning wildly. Jabbing her heels into the pony to search the city again, it reared back, throwing the unfamiliar rider down and off it's back. Aryn landed with a heavy thud and a sharp crack, and felt the makings of tears sting her eyes. She gritted her teeth, cradling her fractured forearm that threatened to break the skin and staring unbelieving at the smoldering rubble that once was her home.

"Mother... FATHER!" The Halfling shouted to nowhere, dropping her head as she gave in to the sobs that racked her body.

Behind her, the pony was neighing frantically, bucking and rearing on the verge of a heart attack. Aryn scowled at the foolish creature, ripping off her outer tunic to drape and twist it around her arm in an excuse for a sling. She shakingly got to her feet, and yanked on the reigns to bring the black snout to her face.

"Listen to me, you pathetic excuse for a pony." She spat.

"I will ride you out of here, or so help me I will feed you to the dragon!" She yelled into it's nostrils.

"Understand?!" As if scolded by it's mother the horse relented, laying his ears back and visibly seeming to sag in the middle. Grumbling under her breath, the Halfling used her good arm to lift herself onto it's back, and pull the reigns in the direction of the sky without smoke.

With only the clothes on her back, a broken arm, and a disgruntled stead, she set out to take refuge with the only people she would pass for: the Hobbits. They welcomed her to their homely holes, where she did her best to hide from the nightmares behind second breakfasts and soft beds. But the fire inside her began to grow, and she left for the Iron Hills, telling herself that her father's people might heal her aching heart. She longed for a distraction, danger, and mistook these feelings for the confusion after a traumatic experience. In actuality, it was her conscience urging her towards a purpose that couldn't be fullfilled in the safety of the Shire. But it was there that she met Gandalf, a wizard who was so fascinated by this lean "Hobbit" that held a fire in her eyes. And it was later that he asked her to join him on an adventure.


	2. Chapter 2

"Gandalf!" A pudgy, blonde Hobbit piped up as he hopped about in the road. "Gandalf!"

"Yes, Master Highwater?" The wizard called back with a smile, puffing on his pipe slowly.

"Gandalf, oh how good it is to see you!" The boy shouted, climbing up into the cart as it pulled in front of his hole.

"And you too, Finnian." A long, heavy grey arm came out to pat the Hobbit lovingly.

"I assume you've just come from Hobbiton, eh?"

"No, Master Highwater. I don't think I'll be going to Hobbiton for awhile. I just traveled there last year, and checked up on the little ones. I'm simply far too busy to travel that far West right now."

"I'm sorry, Gandalf. Those Baggins and Tooks really like you. At least you came to see the Highwaters!"

The wizard chuckled lowly, chewing on his pipe. "Yes, for however briefly."

"Alot's changed since the last time you came, you know."

"Oh, really? How so?" Gandalf muttered, stopping the cart and climbing down from it.

"Well, Ol' Miss Granger finally passed, and what a lovely funeral it was. But there's also the birthing of my sister Sarah's twins-hair like fire. Henrik went and got himself a bow for hunting things much bigger than him. Oh! And we got a new blacksmith-a woman."

At that, Gandalf went from a smile to lifting a curious eyebrow, looking down at the hobbit with confused eyes. "A woman?"

"Yes, sir. Makes the finest locks this side of Bree, and can pretty much fix anything you ask her to. She makes absolutely lovely swords too, though none of the folks here bother to buy any. You should meet her! She's inside right now, putting something in for me."

At that, Finnian's rounded red Hobbit door swung open with indefinite strength, and a dirty little Hobbit wandered her way into the yard. Her face was smeared with soot, and the stains on her tunic were much worse. But bright green eyes shown through the grime, and a shock of auburn hair was pinned back from her face. She was so unlike any hobbits that Gandalf was used to with her lean limbs and wide shoulders, resembling a small elf more than the other Shire-folk.

"Master Highwater! I managed to wrestle the stove from the wall, but it kinda' fought back." She pulled at her ruined clothes. "I can carry it down to the shop and have it fixed by morning."

"Wonderful! Miss Aryn, I would like you to meet a friend of mine. Gandalf the Grey, meet Aryn Olivebranch-smith and metalworker."

"A pleasure, Miss Olivebranch." He extended his hand in a friendly grasp.

"Oh my, I've forgotten my manners. How nice to meet you, Mister Gandalf. Excuse my appearance, I just lost 2 of 3 rounds with a fiesty iron stove." She wiped her slender palms on a clean patch of her shorts before taking the wizard's hand gently.

"What a curious young lady. You are the village's smith?"

"I am. My father taught me what he could, and what he didn't teach me I learned for myself."

"Did he teach you how to wield a sword as well?"

"Aye, that way the ones I made would be practical as well as pretty." She tucked a piece of hair behind her pointed ear, looking up confidently at the wizard who stood twice her size.

"Then I admire you, Lady Aryn. You're quite the unique addition to the Shire."

"You humble me, Gandalf." Her smile was bright and clean, white against her golden skin and the smears of soot.

"Oh no, you have humbled me."

* * *

Several years would go by before their next meeting, this time for the birth of a Longfellow, a cherub-looking child with his fair share of sandy-brown curls. It was no small party that the Hobbits threw when celebrating a life, either a new or the rememberance of an old one. But inside Miss Aryn's modest hole, there was no celebration. Anyone would have guessed that she was pressing a blouse, or brushing her auburn waves in preparations for the night ahead. Instead, the Halfling was lacing up her walking shoes, possibly the only pair of shoes within a hundred miles, and packing a leather bag with clothes and food.

The fireworks were all lined up in the back of Gandalf's cart, each standing proud with a coat of colorful paper. The wizard was puffing on his pipe lightly, sitting upon the bench beside his horse, and watching all of the hobbits busy themselves with duties for the night's festivities. They bustled and scrambled like happy ants, so eager to get the job done.

He chuckled around the wood of his pipe, when a flicker of something over the hill caught his sensitive eyes. It was Aryn, coming from her hole with a bed roll and a worried frown. She was packing a pony, tightenings the straps on it's belly.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice startled her, and she jumped with ahand on her dagger.

"Oh, Gandalf.. You scared me." She didn't respond, and her hands went back to rearranging bags and straps.

"What are you doing, Aryn?"

She turned around, huffing through her nostrils. "I'm leaving."

"Leaving the Shire? But why?"

"Because I have to, Gandalf." She pulled herself up, throwing one leg over the animal's back.

"I'm restless to the point I can't stand it. This place is all good food and feathered pillows, and I thought that's what I needed, but it's not. I want more than just these soft hills and lazy rivers. I need.. something else. I don't belong here, Gandalf. Right about now, I don't feel like I belong anywhere."

"And where would you go to find yourself, Aryn?"

"I'm off to the Iron Hills."

".. To be with the Dwarves?" The wizard chewed thoughtfully on his pipe, looking her strange figure up and down. She had the ears and stature of a Hobbit, but there was something odd, foreign, about her that he couldn't quite place. Her desire to live with Dwarves was only adding to the riddle that was this fascinating creature.

"I can't fulfill this ache in my heart where I am now. There are forces out my control pulling me away from the Shire, and I have no choice but to follow. I'm stumbling through life, pretending I know what I'm doing. Perhaps something great will be waiting for me at the end of my journey."

The wizard regarded her with sad eyes, placing one large hand on her knee. "I believe, Aryn, that the smallest things are what keep this world alive and moving forward. We're all falling through life, with some lack of grace, but I believe your destination is truly special. I've never met anyone quite like you, Aryn Olivebranch."

His calloused hand came up to stroke the hair from her high cheekbone. "A young, lady Hobbit with a fire in her eyes that will not be tamed. I don't doubt we'll meet again soon, and you can show me your new home in the Iron Hills."

She leaned into his palm, smiling gently. "Maybe the Blue Mountains, wherever the wind decides to take me... Goodbye, Gandalf."

"Not goodbye, Aryn. Till we meet again." The wizard smiled down at her, turning to follow the line her pony made in the mud as it galloped into the shower that was beginning to fall over the Shire. And as the tiny raindrops fell over the brim of his hat, he smiled. If Fate was so kind, the Hobbit would soon stumble across the adventure she so searched for. Little did he know, it would be by his own intervention that Aryn got that chance.

* * *

The heat of the smithery was sweltering, and it exploded in a hiss of steam when Aryn opened the door to the outside. She panted lightly, rubbing sweat and soot from her brow as she stepped into the light of the hallway, closing the basement door behind her. The house was quiet in the young hours, and Aryn had worked all night to finish those swords by this morning. Her braids clung to her sweaty shoulders, barred through the sleeveless tunic and open collar.

"Aryn! Where are ye', lassie?" A gruff voice called from somewhere else in the house.

"Down here!" She yelled back, climbing the steps to meet the visitor.

"Good girl, you're awake. I have a letter for yo-" The dwarf paused, taking in her dirty appearance with raised, bushy brown eyebrows. "-Ye' finished the swords?"

"Yes.." She panted, smiling with heavy eyes.

"Oh, bravo lassie! Fultin will be surely pay extra now, ye' having finished so early. Anyways! I have a letter for ye', the carrier met me on the porch as I walked up just now."

Aryn cleared her dry throat, wiping her damp hands on a somewhat clean part of her shorts before taking the folded piece of parchment. "Thank you, Brunar."

The elder dwarf left her on the steps to read, calling back over his shoulder. "Poor girl must be exhausted. I'll pour some ale and fix ye' something to eat."

Aryn couldn't find a name besides her own anywhere on the outside, so she carefully pulled back the wax seal with her nail. The document fell open onto the floor, covered in black scrawl, and even had flaps on the sides to reveal more writing. A slip of paper of a lighter stain fluttered to the floor, tiny in comparison to the document that was almost as tall as she was.

"My dear Aryn.." She read aloud.

_You once told me that you believed you were destined for great things. I believe that time has come. I would be honored if you would join me on this adventure, and the documents enclosed should explain most of what you need to know. Three weeks from the day you recieve this letter, I and our company will gather in the Shire. You know where Bag End is, although you have never been there. I trust you will not be late for dinner._

_-Gandalf_

The Halfling's eyes lit up as she bolted for the kitchen.

"Brunar! I need a witness!"

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Aside from the introduction (Chapter 1), any narration from Bilbo's point of view or character's personal thoughts, depending on the context, will be made in italics to set them apart from the story.

_That, my dear Frodo, is where I come in. For quite by chance, and the will of a wizard, fate decided I would become part of this tale. It began, well, it began as you might expect: in a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with worms and oozy smells. This was a Hobbit hole, and that means good food, a warm hearth, and all the comforts of home._

_Had I known one of my best friends was going to come through the door that night, I might have made a point to tidy up._

* * *

The journey to Bag End took almost the entire three weeks from the arrival of the contract, and she made it a point to leave as soon as she had a shower and packed a bag. Brunar had of course volunteered to look after the homestead while she was away, probably up to a few years with delays. He would perform general upkeep, sort the mail, and tend the woodland creatures who depended on the bowl of table scraps she kept on the porch.

That last day in the Iron Hills was rushed, excited, and Aryn left her home for the last time quite unceremoniously. Her best friend had shed a single manly tear as he hugged her goodbye, grumbling about how she was "leaving the nest" and how proud he was of her. The next thing he did was gripe about how she "could have any of his ponies", why on this green Earth did she want Henry?

"Henry is a wonderful boy, I trust him with my life over any young steed you could conjure up."

"But.. he's so OLD. Poor thing will drop dead before you reach Bree, let alone the Shire and beyond. Ye' sure you don't want Lizzy or Kai?"

"I'll be fine, Brunar. Have some faith in ol' Henry. He has some fight left in him." She smiled down at the pony, greying around his chocolate mouth and sprouting streaks of white in his blonde mane.

"Hmm. There's something left in him, all right. It's called a heart attack."

"Oh, hush. You'll hurt his feelings. I need him bright eyed and bushy tailed for the year ahead."

"Well, good luck, Aryn.. We're all going to miss ye' more than you realize. I'll do my best to keep up business here for when ye' get back." His big grey eyes downturned, and they looked as if they were about to leak a tear again.

"...Ye' will come back, won't ye?"

"Who, me? You'd have to either kill me or marry me off to keep me away from this place. And don't both of those seem highely unlikely?"

"Aryn, I'm serious. This isn't a game, or holiday. Yur' wading into a war."

"I'm trying to remain optimistic, Brunar. Won't you play with me?"

"Optimism won't stop a sword!"

"We'll it's when we stop believing that we can succeed that we fail... I'm coming home. I promise."

* * *

Upon reaching the Shire though, Henry's breathing was labored and he all but stumbled up the winding roads and rolling hills.

"Come on, baby, we're almost to the top." She whispered sweet words to the elder pony, rubbing his neck and hopping off to walk him up the path to Bag End.

Her hands were digging in the pack of his haunches to fetch a rope to tie him with, when the hide under her fingers dropped out. Henry had fallen to his knees, folding his legs under him to lay down in the herbs by the door.

Aryn panicked, bending down beside him to check his heart rate and gently prodded his legs to check for any bad joints.

"Healthy as a horse.." She murmured. "No elevated heartbeat, breathing only slightly labored."

She bent down by his snout, yelling when he puffed a gust of air into her face. "Oh! You're just lazy, you spoiled git."

* * *

_Riinnggg._ The bell's sound was pleasant, audible even outside.

"No, no, no! Not again, I already have more dwarves than I can attempt to supervise, this is-"

"-Calm down, Master Bilbo, our last two guests should be no trouble at all." Aryn's slim eyebrow shot up to her hairline at the bickering voices she heard inside. One of which she recognized as Gandalf, and one she did not. Although it was significantly higher pitched, probably because he was angry, was undoubtedly male.

"What is that supposed to mean, Gandalf? Who is at my door now?" His little paw plucked open the door to reveal a woman. Too short to be human, and eye-to-eye with the flustered man. Her auburn hair was braided away from her face like he had observed on the dwarves, yet a few rogue strands came down to rest on high cheekbones. Two large, pointed ears stuck up from the wavy locks, and Bilbo almost sagged with a rush of relief.

_Another hobbit. This should be fairly simple._

Although she looked like no hobbit he had ever seen-with obvious lean muscles that rolled under tanned skin, and healthy hips (what his mother would have snorted and called "child-bearing"). Her face was kind, with angular features except for a wide button nose, quite beautiful in a foreign way that was so unlike the women of the Shire.

She looked confused at the bustle behind the Hobbits head, but her gaping mouth got no chance to speak when Gandalf came to the door beside him. "Aryn! Right on time, as always. This is your most gracious host, Bilbo Baggins."

"Aryn Olivebranch. At your service, Master Baggins." The little lady smiled charmingly, extending her arm in a hearty handshake and grinning when the other Hobbit stumbled under the strength of her grip.

"Good heavens." He whispered under his breath, stretching his fingers delicately.

"Won't you come in, Aryn? I simply must introduce you to everyone, although we're waiting on one more." He waved for her to follow him, and Bilbo stood back, waiting to close the door.

"I hope the dwarves won't be too much trouble, Mr. Baggins." Aryn smiled at him, touching his shoulder gently.

"Bofur, Bombur, get yourself seated, I have an announcement to make." Bilbo shuffled himself after the wizard, curious in his perch by the archway.

"Gentleman, I would like you all to meet someone. Aryn Olivebranch, of the Iron Hills."

"You're a dwarf?" Dwalin piped up, thoroughly confused and seated closest to her.

"But she's got points on her ears!" Fili exclaimed.

"And not hairy from what I can see." Gloin mentally noted, leaning back to see her legs from underneath the table before being smacked on the arm by Dori. Something was muttered about manners while Gloin whispered back a half-hearted apology.

The woman's small paw came up to clasp her ears, and she made a confused sound. "Oh! No, I was born a hobbit, but I've lived in the Iron Hills for quite a long time."

"Don't be shy, lassie, come and sit down. Grab a plate, any friend of our kind is a friend of our company." Bofur extended his arm kindly, coaxing her to take a chair next to his side.

"If you're anything like my friends back home, we'll be family soon enough." Aryn beamed, shaking Bofur's hand.

"Sounds good to me!" Fili declared, holding up his ale. He almost choked as it spilt, knocked nearly out of his hand when Kili bolted from his seat, scurrying to the front of the table.

Aryn nearly bent over backwards at the overzealous young man, eyes widening as he clumsily entered her personal space. "I would like to be the first of my brethren to introduce himself properly in your presence, my lady. I am Kili, son of Dis."

He bent down, looking up with eager eyes as he kissed the back of her hand. "Welcome to our humble company."

"Oh, you're sweet." She playfully slapped his cheek as he grinned up at her. Dwalin jumped up from his seat, having seen enough, and roughly yanked the boy's tunic.

"Take your seat, boy. You've made a big enough fool of yourself for one evening."

Aryn left them to reprimand one of their youngest, and picked up a plate from the end of the table. She found Bilbo in the pantry, mourning over his ransacked inventory. "Are you quite alright, Mr. Baggins?"

"I don't know, honestly. Please tell you're.. normal. Mm, not ravenous?" His shoulders sagged in defeat, trying to be friendly.

"My appetite matches my size, so I'll be the least of your worries." She mumbled, picking up a few pieces of fruit and bread onto her plate before turning to leave.

Bilbo winced at the sound of gulping and loud belching coming from the dining room. "Maybe it'll be nice to have someone like me around-you know, another hobbit-so I don't feel so helpless.."

She turned back, pausing with a surprising look of pity. "..Yes, someone like you."

Gandalf continued to count on his fingers, smiling at the woman who walked passed him. "I'm afraid we're still one dwarf short."

Dwalin answered from his stance where he was awaiting the lamb and puffed on a pipe. "He's late, is all. He traveled north for a meeting with our kin. He'll be here soon, I'm sure."

* * *

_At the time, I had been overwhelmed, made an emotional wreck by the state of my home and food stores, so much that I almost missed the merry gathering the dwarves had created in my dining room. Especially Aryn, I watched her laugh and carry on, as if they had known eachother for years. It fascinated me, this young lady who was everything I was not, yet we were both Hobbits, and that was from what I saw the only thing we had in common._

_I wanted to talk to her, know more about her, and thought maybe if I had just one friend.. then I could tolerate whatever Gandalf had in store for us._

* * *

"Oh, come now, Mr. Baggins, there's no harm to your dishes." The female cooed, following him after they watched the dwarves spontaneously sing as they cleaned up their mess.

"You say that now, but it's only a matter of time before I hear a mighty crash and-" He was silenced, struck dumb by the neat stacks that awaited him at the table. The air escaped his lungs in a rush.

Knock. Knock. The company froze with the heavy pounds at the door.

Gandalf was the bravest to speak. ".. He's here."

The round door creaked open to reveal a handsome dwarf, with melancholy blue eyes and a thick mane of black hair. "Gandalf." He replied to the invitation, sounding bored. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. I wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door."

"What?" Bilbo protested, walking forward. "There's no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago."

"Actually.." Gandalf said, repentant in his low tone. "There is a mark on the door, I put it there myself. Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company: Thorin Oakenshield."

"So..." The Prince stepped forward, surveying him with his eyes. "This is the Hobbit."

"Actually, we're up to two now." Bofur offered behind his pipe.

Thorin looked around, spinning until he settled his eyes on the only other unfamiliar face. His blue orbs widened a bit at her strange beauty, but quickly hardened into anything but welcoming. "A hobbit-a woman. If this is a joke, Gandalf, I am not laughing-"

"Hey." Aryn piped up, bristling with offense, and was promptly ignored.

Thorin turned to the other hobbit instead, hunting to find some reason to accept the pair. "Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"Axe, or sword? What's your weapon of choice?"

"Well, I do have some skill at 'conkers', if you must know. But I fail to see.. why.. that's relevant." The hobbit shifted uneasily under his circling gaze, but stared up defiantly.

"Thought as much. He looks more like a grocer, than a burglar." The collection of dwarves chuckled behind the intimidating figure in unison.

"And you, lady Hobbit? What skills can you offer me besides a pretty face to distract the enemy?"

By now the red highlights in her braids were almost steaming, and her green eyes did not look away from his challenge. There was the sound of metal unsheathed, and she created a wave of startled gasps when she yanked the sword from her belt and opened it before his eyes. No one spoke to stop the conflict, but they all looked on helplessly with wide eyes.

"Swords, made by mine own hands, and I can land a killing blow on anything I can't outrun. I may be a woman, but I am just as much a warrior. Do not mistake me for anything less."

The room was thick with tension, and all eyes were trained on the pair. Thorin took the blade from her hands, only breaking their gaze to scan the bright metal and short handle. The next sounds in the quiet room were the snap of the blade being sheathed, and Thorin's low voice.

"What is your name, little flame?"

"Aryn Olivebranch."

He promptly rolled his eyes and handed her back the blade, turning to walk away with a tone of finality and sarcasm. "For such a fiery spirit, your name means 'peace' in every language. But for what it's worth, that's a lovely dagger."  
 _  
_


	4. Chapter 4

"Lovely dagger.." Aryn sneered under her breath, watching the dwarves retreat to the dining room. She walked to the window, checking her reflection and twisting her mouth in a frown. The glass fogged with her hot sigh when a voice came from behind.

"Don't let what Thorin said upset you.. I think it's a beautiful sword." Bilbo offered, smiling at the stranger.

"Oh, I don't plan to, Mister Baggins. His words are thorns-they sting but are too small to fuss over." She smiled back, tucking a piece of hair behind a pointed ear.

".. Can I ask you a question?" He piped up timidly, threading his fingers together and licking his lips nervously.

"You may."

"Why are you here? Your a very pretty girl, and these dwarves aren't exactly involved in friendly business."

She paused before answering. ".. I'm helping a friend. Gandalf has been a part of my life for years, and he asked me to come."

"Do you know exactly what you're getting into?"

"Do you? I know the story, but you of all people need to hear this." She pointed to the dining room, walking the Hobbit with one hand on his unsteady arm.

* * *

The dwarves had talked amongst themselves for several minutes, reliving the past in expressions across their faces. As for the journey ahead, Gandalf was correct that the men around that table would do anything for the reward he offered.

"The task I ask of you will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But if we are careful and clever, I believe it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar!" Ori piped up from the end of the table, pointing to the Hobbits.

"Hm. A good one too. An expert, I'd imagine." Bilbo answered, oblivious.

Balin looked at him skeptically. "And are you? Either of you?"

Bilbo looked around and back to Aryn. "Are we what?"

"Expert burglars, Mr. Baggins. I'm compact and quick, but I'll admit I wasn't asked to join because I could sneak past anything. It must be you."

"Me? What, no! I'm not a burglar. I've never stolen a thing in my life."

"I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins." Balin grimaced. "He's hardly burglar-material."

"Aye.." Dawlin added, looking the male Hobbit up and down. "The wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor 'fend for themselves."

"But then who will be our burglar? You can't expect me to be it, can you?" Aryn looked accusingly at Bilbo and the table of dwarves.

Dwalin looked over at the little woman with uncharacteristically soft eyes. "You're the only one around who has any prayer, lassie. It has to be you."

"But-"

"-You heard the little lady, she doesn't want to do it-" Gloin called to the front.

"-She has no choice, Gloin-"

The table quickly erupted into a chorus of shouts and various arguments, some making obscene hand gestures and others choosing to slam their palms on the wood.

Gandalf began to shake in anger, standing to his full height in the cramped dining room. His presence loomed over them all, darkening the air and exciting it with magic. "Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is."

"Whew." Aryn whispered, visibly relaxing.

He continued. "Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of a Hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage."

Gandalf turned to Thorin, letting his anger dissipate slightly. "You asked me to find at least two more members to this company, and I have chosen these two. Mister Baggins will fulfill the necessary role as our burglar, and Aryn will make one more warrior that you have at your disposal. They may not be the most impressive pair, but they have more to offer than any of you know.. Including themselves. You must trust me on this."

Aryn made a sound at Gandalf when he called them unimpressive, but she looked to her left at the male Hobbit, and she had to admit he was right.

Thorin looked at Gandalf for several hard moments before nodding. "..Very well. We'll do it your way. Give him the contract."

Balin immediately jumped up, ignoring Bilbo's protests and pulling a folded bundle of parchment from his coat. "It's just the usual: summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remunerations, funeral arrangements, so forth."

The contract landed heavily against his chest where Thorin slapped it. "Funeral arrangements?" Bilbo cried.

The parchment fell down to hang in all it's glory, over ten panels long. He looked over at Aryn who had her arms crossed and leaned against the archway. "..Would you like to walk me through it?"

She looked surprised, and answered immediately. "I didn't read it. I just.. signed it."

"Oh, dear." He sighed, mumbling to himself as he read.

Meanwhile, Thorin leaned close to Gandalf to whisper a warning. "I cannot guarantee their safety. Especially the woman, she will receive no special treatment. I will not be responsible for their fates."

"...Agreed."

Bilbo read on, ignoring the murmurs in the dining room. "Cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one fifteenth of total profit, if any. Hmm, seems fair... not responsible for injuries sustained... including but not limited to lacerations. Evisceration? Incineration?" He looked accusingly over to the dwarves.

Bofur was the happiest to oblige. "Oh, yes! He'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye!"

"Oi!" Aryn warned, scolding Bofur with her eyes.

Bilbo immediately stopped reading to pant lightly, making an exasperated noise and bending over to grab his knees.

Balin made an exhausted face. "Ye' all right, laddie?"

"Yeah.. Feel a bit faint."

"Think furnace with wings!" Bofur continued.

"Air, air, I need air-"

"-flash of light, searing pain, then poof! Yer' nothin' more than a pile of ash-" Aryn reached up to put her hand over Bofur's mouth, shushing him and turning her head to watch Bilbo closely. They all did, holding their breath and waiting.

He swayed for a moment, sucking in deep breaths before standing still. "... Nope."

Thud. The Hobbit tipped over, fainting on the rug.

Aryn took her hand from Bofur's mouth to lightly punch his chest. "Oh, now look what you've done."

* * *

After Gandalf had successfully dumped Bilbo into his favorite chair and sobered him up with a cup of tea, he quietly asked Aryn to leave. They were going to have a long discussion, he'd said, where he would finally knock some sense into this stubborn Hobbit.

She chatted quietly with the dwarves, answering questions but not venturing to make very much conversation on her part. Her mind was distracted by the hushed voices in the next room, which only fell in tonal energy until Bilbo Baggins emerged with a troubled expression on his face, and refused to make eye contact as he made a beeline for his room. What Aryn feared had become a reality.

"It appears we have lost our burglar." Balin sighed from down the hall as he spoke privately with Thorin.

Aryn sat very still for a few moments, only moving when Gandalf came to place his heavy hand on her shoulder, muttering something about how she should not worry, and other nonsense. She stood slowly, clearing her throat and taking a pair of Gandalf's fingers in her small palm.

"I won't let you down, Gandalf. I promise."

The wizard smiled down at her with pitying eyes, and took his hand back to gently stroke the hair beside her face. "Oh, Aryn. My dear, nothing is certain. We'll let dawn make the final decision. Don't you trust me?"

"Of course, I do.."

"Then let us not go to bed with a heavy heart. Get plenty of sleep, for we have a very big day ahead of us tomorrow." He smiled again, ruffling her bangs and walking away to light his pipe.

She watched his back as he left, and vaguely made a mental note that the dwarves were gathering in the sitting room beside the fire. Her heart couldn't help but be weighted down with an emotion she had not felt in decades: fear. A fear of failure, fear of death, fear of things she did not yet know. And as she removed her clothes to crawl under the duvet that night, the weight of reality was upon her. But there was no room for thought now. If she paused long enough to look around at the danger and dragon she was about to face, common sense might convince her to go home.

And so, in the eve of the departure, Aryn could not accept defeat. Her arms came from under the blanket to finger her pendant, watching as the small hearth danced amber light across the emerald's surface. In the face of adversity, she would remain strong like her parents had done before her.

The fear of the unknown would not separate her from all the benefits that came with not knowing.

* * *

The next morning, dawn had come and stayed gone for awhile when the dwarves were leaving. They wolfed down the last of their breakfast, filing out the door with sated stomaches and snacks for later. Aryn was fastening the buttons of her blouse, strapping up her limited outer armor and finally slipped a lonely apple into her pocket. She padded down the corridor, one of the last to leave, and paused at their host's door. Her lips pursed in thought at she rapped gently on the wood.

".. Mr. Baggins?" The door was ajar, and her head poked through to scan the room. Poor Bilbo had fallen asleep as hard as a log, not even bothering to change his clothes pull back the duvet.

She crept inside, approaching the bed and reaching out to shake his shoulder. "Bilbo? One last chance to change your mind."

The man didn't stir, and only snorted at the rolling of his shoulder under her palm. Her full lips curled into a frown, and she lowered her eyes sadly. "You know, I didn't know it until I met you, Bilbo Baggins.. But I don't want to be the burglar. These men are asking me to be nothing that I have ever trained for. And I am afraid."

She paused, clearing her throat and rubbing her eyes nervously. "I know you can't hear me, and that is probably the only reason I spoke my mind. But, on a lighter note, thank you for your hospitality and.. Goodbye, Mr. Baggins. I'm sorry you won't be joining us."

Her hands fidgeted, patting the hobbit's unruly curls and turning to leave. Thorin had been at the door, sympathizing with the little lady that was afraid of the shoes she had to fill. He straightened, clearing his throat and appearing to have just walked up when Aryn came to the doorway.

"Lady Aryn." He greeted roughly, nodding his head at her.

"Master Oakenshield." She returned, pulling the door to the frame and leaving it unlatched.

"We'll be leaving soon. Have you had breakfast?"

"I am fine without it. You act eager to have me along." She crossed her arms defiantly, although unsure why she was still offended from the previous night. "I would have thought you intended to leave me behind."

"If I had my way, I would have." He shot back a little louder than he wanted, clearing his throat and reigning himself in. "But you would just follow, so I'll at least have you fed. You're no good to me hungry and whining."

She hooked a tiny hand in her pocket, fishing out the apple from before. "Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint you."

Her lips curled back to reveal sharp white teeth when they bit a healthy chunk of the apple's flesh. Thorin's eyes narrowed when they caught her hips in a victorious gait as she walked away. This woman would try his patience all the way to Erebor, and he feared she would stay just to annoy him. He went to follow when she turned, swallowing the red fruit before frowning at him. Sunlight was flooding the space behind her, and cast a silhouette that reflected her downcast mouth.

".. I have no doubts that you are a great leader. Do not ruin my respect for you by belittling me as a soldier. I volunteered to be here.. And I really don't want to disappoint you."

The King's eyes widened when the warmth of her tone flooded his cold gaze. In this light, against these tiny furnishings, her stature seem to tower over all else, and his opinion of her began to grow. This one was strong, and would not be so easily discouraged. Maybe deep down, he didn't want her to be.

Perhaps he could tolerate this woman after all.

* * *

Outside the dwarves were saddling their ponies, strapping various packs on their haunches and tightening assorted straps accordingly. Aryn had finished her apple to the core, suckling the last bit of flesh before tossing the remains into the garden behind a shrub that was grateful for the fertilizer.

The pony who she had ridden from Dale turned out to be a lovely friend, with a steady gait and the speed of a bird in flight. His grandson was worthy of a similar title, with a chocolate coat and honey blonde mane that ran in the family. But Henry was old, not very fond of long journeys, and Aryn preferred to ride him bareback with just a blanket that had "saddle bags" sewn on either side.

She greeted him fondly, rubbing his nose and placing kisses on the white stripe that divided his face nearly in half. "Good morning, my brave baby."

Her mounting was practiced, and she leapt atop his thick middle with no struggle, grabbing a handful of golden locks. Thorin's eyes widened when he watched her, and he stopped adjusting his own pony to walk over. "You don't use a saddle?"

"No, Sir. Henry's got many years under his belt and a saddle is just extra weight."

"He needs support, Aryn, or he'll fall dead in the first hundred miles. Dwalin, get him Daisy's saddle!" The king called gruffly to his second in command, waving for the other dwarf to come over.

"I think I know my pony, Master Oakenshield. I can-"

"-Come down. If we have to run, you'll slip right off and crack your skull open or get stepped on. You're not riding without a saddle." He made an impatient motion with his hand, offering it to help her onto the ground.

"But-! Oh, fine.." She huffed, gently pushing the hand away and hopping down on her own. Thorin might have looked disappointed that she dismissed him if he weren't strapping the old pony in. Henry chuffed, making it plain that he hadn't worn a bridle in years and was not at all pleased.

"..Are you satisfied?" Aryn sighed, looking up at the dwarf before uncrossing her arms to lift herself up onto the stiff saddle. Her mouth twisted in discomfort, squirming to find a good position.

"Sit still." Thorin chided, gently grasping her tiny foot and slipping it inside the stirrup, tightening the straps to accommodate her legs. Aryn's face immediately softened, watching with wide eyes as he took the same care to the other foot, testing the integrity of the leather.

"Is this all right?" He asked, looking up with eyes brilliantly blue in the morning sunshine, and not yet releasing her calf.

Her mind skipped, trying to comprehend the humbling gesture he bestowed upon her.

".. Yes." She said softly, meaning the lingering hand on her lower leg, and feeling embarrassed when the nature of his question dawned on her. "The saddle I mean."

His eyebrow raised in surprise, and he quickly folded back into his rough, indifferent self. "Let's move out. We've lingered long enough here."

Aryn picked up the reigns without thinking, unable to tear her eyes away the strong back that walked away from her. Perhaps strength and power weren't the only pillars of their Captain's character. Maybe kindness and-dare we say-love nestled themselves amongst the iron bars of the dwarf King's heart.


	5. Chapter 5

The order along the trail was centered mostly around rank. Thorin and Dwalin lead the line while those content to follow did exactly that. Henry clunked along, stepping hard in his idea of a tantrum for the leather straps along his belly and mouth. Aryn had one hand on the reigns and the other in his mane, scratching lightly and helping him relax. Thorin softened his eyes as he looked back and heard her soft mutterings to the animal. However, the knowing smirk from his second-in-command rubbed his pride against the grain.

He called back over his shoulder. "If you patronize that animal the whole way, he'll never get used to what is good for him."

"I regret to inform you that comforting is not the same as patronizing."

"It was merely a suggestion to keep the journey reasonably quiet."

"If this is how you're going to behave, I still have time to turn around-"

"-Why don't you-?!"

"-WAIT!" Bilbo cried, the contract waving behind him like a flag. "WAIT!"

Thorin looked up to spy the Hobbit galloping towards them. He glanced over at Aryn, meeting her gaze with a sigh of defeat. They could put aside their differences for Bilbo. For now.

"I signed it." The Hobbit panted happily, smiling when Balin examined the signature under his looking glass.

"Well, everything seems to be in order. Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield."

He grinned up at the others, looking confused at their awkward expressions. "What'd I miss?"

Thorin shook his head, dodging the question. "Give him a pony."

"No no no, that won't be necessary. I've done my fair share of walking on holidays, you see. Even got as far as Frogmorton once-AH!"

The Hobbit shrieked as he was lifted by his coat to be set atop a nickering pony. She had a sweet disposition, Myrtle did, but Bilbo still held the reigns away from his body in apprehension.

"You have to relax, Master Baggins." Aryn spoke gently as she came to ride beside him. "They can sense your nervousness, and it makes them skittish."

"I'm just not.. a huge fan of something with a mind of it's own bobbing about between my legs."

"You'll get used to it, or might even learn to like it."

Gandalf came up to ride beside them. "You'll have to get used to a lot of things before our journey ends, Bilbo Baggins. You were born to the rolling hills and little rivers of the Shire, but home is now behind you. The world is ahead."

* * *

Most nights, the company was not so fortunate as to have access to a bath. The only running water sources were few and far between, sometimes leaving them up to a week without a cool stream or river to scrape away the dirt and grime.

But occasionally, with a good amount of luck and a keen ear, the company could come by their next bath. This was one such night, and a pecking order had formed that signaled when it was their turn to go clean up. Though several of the older males went in groups, for protection and the sake of time, the conservative Hobbits would not hear of such a thing. Aryn had been one of the first to go because it was neither practical to send her late and alone in the dark or insist she take an escort. The final decision seemed best, and their lady hobbit went to bathe while the rest of the company had dinner.

Bilbo returned a while later, having been one of the last, and settled his spare clothes into the pack that was laid out next to his bed roll. The Dwarves were mostly clean, and had taken to sitting by the fire while they dried. All except for a few were settled in only their tunics, letting their overcoats receive a proper airing-out on the trees nearby. The male Hobbit ran a hand over his damp curls, wiping a bit of moisture from around one pointed ear. His blue eyes scanned over the camp, fascinated by the little grooming habits that could only be witnessed in these rare times.

The rougher men, especially Dwalin, did no such thing, and were content to let the night air put life back into their long locks. Kili had removed the silver clasp that held the hair away from his face, and occasionally tucked an unruly piece behind his large, round ear. A few were absentmindedly loving their beards with their fingers, carefully combing out any debris or tangle that had collected over the last few days.

And then there was the vain, who were busying themselves around the fire with precise fingers that wound intricate braids and skillfully crafted adornments. Fili actually carried a small metal comb that he frequented with.

Bilbo couldn't help but smile as he observed, relishing in this most intimate of moments that told a story about each individual. His gaze caught on a particularly red spark of color when he noticed Aryn, who was not so accustomed to the chilly air and sat closer than anyone to the crackling fire. She sat balanced on her knees, arms flexing under her overcoat as she took the most delicate care in her braids. The pattern was intricate, perhaps quite personal, and nestled itself proudly amongst her waves. Tiny twin braids that resembled Fili's were secured to the back of her head with a golden clasp. The rest came down to fall over her shoulders, reflecting back the light of the fire.

"You braid hair like a Dwarf.." He muttered in awe.

She seemed caught off guard, deep in her own thoughts, and turned to smile at him. "I did used to live with Dwarves, you know. It's a skill you pick up on."

 _That's a lie._ Her conscience said to herself. _Your father has put those braids in your hair since you were child. It's a design his mother put in his own hair. After he died, you didn't brush that nest of yours until you could recreate them exactly._

Bilbo's voice cut through her thoughts, dispersing the image of Karan holding the young girl in his lap to tie back the braids from her face.

"A quite handy skill, actually. I might want to learn someday just to say I can." Bilbo mumbled, picking at a string in his sleeve.

Aryn was the only one to chuckle out-loud. "Their culture is quite different from Hobbits. If I was to braid your hair, or you mine, you wouldn't be going home as a bachelor, Mr. Baggins."

"What? O-Oh! Hmm." He cleared his throat, turning red up to the tips of ears and waving his hands dismissively. "If those are the implications then there will be none of that, thank you."

Kili piped up with a confused, twisted face. "I don't think it works the same way because neither of you are dwarves. If one of us was to perform the ritual, that's a different story. But you are both Hobbits, right?" He drew out the question in a small laugh.

Aryn chuckled awkwardly, rubbing a hand over her brow.

"Oh, yes, of course. B-But it's a custom I am.. used to. I would feel uncomfortable." She scratched her neck nervously, rubbing her hair line.

"It's all right, Aryn." Bilbo comforted, holding up a pudgy hand. "I won't make you feel uncomfortable-forget I even said anything. I-In fact, I'll change the conversation by saying that.. you look very nice."

"Thank you, Bilbo, that's very kind." The Halfling smiled gently, sitting back against the log where their Captain was perched. She rubbed her forearms lightly, shivering under the chilled mountain breeze.

Thorin took his gaze from the Hobbit to look down at Aryn's shivering form with fond eyes and a thin mouth. He contemplated offering her the fur that sat atop his own shoulders. She jumped when she felt the garment against the back of her neck, and looked up at him with obvious confusion. He merely cleared his throat, placing it over her back.

"You're no good to me sick."

".. Yes, Sir. Thank you." She pulled the fur closer to her face, smiling when she thought no bothered to look.

Later on, in the small hours of the morning, Bilbo was awoken by the snoring of the men around the fire. He rolled over in annoyance just to be startled by a ripping shriek in the distance.

"What was that?!" Bilbo demanded to know, walking over to the dwarves as if they would protect him.

Kili looked in the direction of the cries, his eyes widening in realization. "Orcs."

"Orcs?" The hobbit repeated, perplexed and frightening.

Fili's lips left his pipe for a moment. "Throat-cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there."

At that Aryn stirred in her bed roll, pretending to adjust the position of her sleep. She listened to the men worry, talking softly amongst themselves. Their tones dropped to a solemn lament, and Balin began to tell the story of the Battle of Moria for the young ones and their new burglar. Aryn listened with peaked interest, wondering briefly what she was doing at the same time. While Thorin was dealing with the death of his grandfather and the disappearance of his father, Aryn's biggest worry was if the linens would be dry by nightfall.

_Well, not exactly._

The Halfling's humble abode resided in the Whitfurrows of the Shire, but she was willing to travel in either direction to Bree or Frogmorton for work. In the East Farthings, Aryn's smithery was making a prominent name for itself, and was regarded highly amongst Men and Hobbits alike.

The night she thought of was in the fall, and business had called her to Bree. The farmers of the town demanded a delivery of horseshoes in preparation for the fast-approaching harvest. The haul was impressive, and Aryn had spent weeks working on such a large order. To celebrate, she stopped by the Prancing Pony for a drink and a good night's rest before she set out for home.

The entire day it had rained albeit lightly, and Aryn was thoroughly soaked by the time she walked into town and reached the inn. The bartender behind the counter was an aging fellow with a peppered beard and friendly eyes. He heard a tiny sneeze and peered over the edge towards the door.

"Well, hello there, little one! What's a tiny woman like you doing out at this time of night?" He handed her a scrap of cloth to wipe her wet face and nose.

"Thank you, Sir. I was on my way home, but I'm afraid I won't make it back in any decent amount of time. Do you have a room for the night?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do. Have you eaten yet?" He put down the glass he was cleaning to exchange her coins for a brass key.

She sniffled and held back another sneeze. "I'm afraid not. I'll just go change my clothes, can you have something set out with a pint for me?"

"I'll put it out on the corner table, little miss."

The woman was back a few minutes later, shedding her damp clothes by the bedroom door and coming to the dining hall in a fresh tunic and leggings. She found a plate of a warm soup and a drink on the table farthest from the door in a forgotten corner lit by it's own candle. While the meal was just a cup to a man, the portion was more than generous for a Hobbit half that height and weight. She welcomed the steam on her chilled face, and ate happily in the buzz of drunken chatter from the rest of the room.

So engrossed in her time, in fact, she missed the tall figure that sneaked around to set himself on the bench across her table. Her green eyes looked up slowly into the hooded face, vision glazed by nearly finishing the tall drink in the mug at her left.

"...If you're looking for work, I can't start any new projects until tomorrow afternoon."

"I'm not interested in your business. I want you to leave immediately."

The alcohol made her irritated, and she sat up to narrow her eyes at the stranger. "I've made no disturbance; you have no right to tell me I have to leave."

"I don't mean the tavern. You can have this night, Halfling, but guard your footsteps thoroughly. Word has begun to spread that the mongrel child of Elliya and Karan is alive and hiding in the West."

Her eyes widened, and she hoped he hadn't heard her gasp over the noise behind them. "Curb how you speak to me, stranger. Those are strong words towards someone who is neither a criminal or a fiend."

"You misunderstand me, madam, I come here not to slander you. Take this as a warning that you are being hunted. The Elves are searching diligently, and will soon be sending soldiers into the Shire to find and capture the child of mixed blood."

"Why? What do they want from me?"

"You are the first of your kind. They wish to keep you locked up, kept as a prize under their watchful eye."

Aryn glared into her empty plate, breathing heavily through her nose when she looked back up at the hooded man. "Then let them come. They will never take me willing, as long as I have something to fight for. My roots have been made, and I don't intend to leave."

"Oh, spare me your foolish sentiments." He spat, leaning forward to expose icy blue eyes in the candlelight.

"You are not safe here. Leave the Shire, run for the Iron Hills or the Blue Mountains."

"... Because the Elves wouldn't step foot in a Dwarvish colony."

"Precisely. Protect your freedom while you are still nothing more than a hushed whisper amongst quiet company."

The Halfling stared into her drink, eyes shooting up to look at the man accusingly. "How did you find me?"

"You don't know me, but I know you, Aryn. I've always known where you are, and I just had to look for the smallest auburn head in the room."

"It seems awfully rude, don't you think? That I should not know you as well?"

He stood gracefully, pulling the hood back down to shield his eyes from the candlelight. "The less we know about each other, the safer you will be. Head my warning, little one, and good luck."

Her sentence was cut off by the twirl of his long coat as the powerful figure strode towards the back door. She went to stand abruptly, but only quick enough to see him disappear completely from the doorway.

There were no windows in the dark tavern, and the mysterious figure slipped easily from sight down the alleyway along the side of the inn. A second hooded figure darted in from the street, linking their arms together and pulling them away from the streetlight. This other stranger pulled down his hood, revealing a blonde elf with wild, green eyes and worried frown.

"Írdor, did you find her? What did she say?"

Our first hooded figure finally pulled back his own hood, unveiling an elf of a light brunette color and dark brows to frame his stern blue eyes. "The halfbreed is alive and well. She is staying the night here before going back home to the Whitfurrows."

"She agreed to travel to the East?"

"More or less."

"Well, that is not for certain. We must follow her in the morning to ensure she intends to flee."

"My sister's child is a precious stone that our kind are willing to fight to possess. We have already taken a terrible risk by coming here to issue a warning. Any more time abroad can only rouse suspicion. We must make for Imladris tonight, Faedin."

The blonde sighed through his nose, admitting defeat as he pulled the hood back over his hair. He begged his most trusted friend. "I think we're making a terrible mistake by leaving her alone. She's defenseless, Írdor. Let us take her ourselves far away from here."

"We are not what she needs, mellon. Her life is her own now, and we would only make matters more complicated."

Faedin's brilliant green eyes watered gently as he stared pleadingly into his friend's much colder gaze. "...Would you not do more for Elliya's daughter?"

"Have faith that she won't need me anymore. She already has an advantage. I've given her the gift of foresight."

* * *

Aryn was pulled from her memories when she heard the men's stories subside into a second chorus of snoring and heavy breathing. The uneasiness of the past was exciting her nerves, and she burrowed her face in the coat that made due for a pillow. Thorin noticed the movement from his seat on the rocks, and looked down to watch her squirm in what he thought was a terrible dream.

Looking around for witnesses, he stepped down as quietly as a dwarf could and leaned over to pull the blanket up to her chin. His fingers lingered as they pulled away, smoothing the unruly hair around her face.

Aryn remembered vividly the feeling of helplessness and fear that came along with that night at the Prancing Pony. A fear that she was doomed to never truly belong anywhere with her parents legacy looming over her head. But in the wake of the smallest act of kindness by the Dwarf King, a blossom of hope sprung up in her heart. Maybe, at the end of this long journey, the dwarves will have lead her to a place she could finally call home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews, as always, are very welcome!


	6. Chapter 6

"As soon as Loki took the doctor, we moved Jane Foster. An excellent observatory in Toronto, she was asked to consult there very suddenly yesterday. Handsome fee. Private plane. Very remote... She'll be safe." Coulson looked up to watch the thunder God stare longingly at the photo on the computer screen.

"Thank you... It's no accident, Loki taking Eric Selvig. I dread what he plans for him once he's done. Eric is a good man."

"He talks about you a lot. You changed his life, changed everything around here."

"Things were better as they were. We pretend on Asgard like we're more advanced, but we come here battling like Bilgesnipe." He spat.

Coulson stopped to look at him with wide eyes. "Like what?"

"Bilgesnipe. You know—huge, scaly, big antlers." His hands came up to make horns with his fingers. "You don't have those?"

"Don't think so."

"Well, they are repulsive. And they trample everything in their path." Thor stopped gradually, coming to look down the walkway towards his other Asgardian friend. She was being pleasant, chatting with a Lieutenant who had inquired about the markings on her armor.

"When I first came to Earth Loki's rage followed me, and your people paid the price. And now again. Even Aswren has been forced to fight. Just a few years ago her only worries were deciding a dress to be married in and which spell could grow the flowers in our garden faster. Now magic is just another weapon and her marriage has crumbled at her feet because of my foolishness. I don't know if I can bear to have her blood add to that which already stains my hands. In my youth I called it war—"

"—war hasn't started yet." Nick Fury piped up from the catwalk above them, leaning down to make conversation.

"I'm going to ask you something, but I feel that your friend is equally qualified to answer me." His hand waved over to Coulson who turned to his side to call the warrior.

"Aswren!" Her brown head popped up to look at him with doe eyes.

"Come here for a minute."

Thor skeptically took in the man at the top of the stairs. "What is this about?"

"What do you need?" Aswren inquired.

Fury leaned forward on his hands, coming down the metal steps. "You think you can make Loki tell us where the Tessaract is?"

Thor looked over to meet Aswren's same worried eyes, speaking up for the both of them. "I don't know."

"Negotiation would not be that simple. It's not just power he craves, its vengeance." Her eyes became inflamed, wondering where the train of thought was going.

"Against me." The blonde continued her sentence. "What are you asking us to do?"

"I'm asking, what are you prepared to do?"

Thor looked up at him seriously. "Loki is a prisoner—"

"—So why do I feel he's the only person on this boat who  _wants_  to be here?" The senior agent looked at them both disappointingly, demanding answers.

Aswren crossed her arms, inhaling deeply with a frustration that etched lines into her brow. "Agent Fury. Loki won't yield to torture and interrogation when he knows what you want to hear."

His eyes widened slightly, raising an eyebrow when he knew what she was implying. "You're suggesting we play dirty?"

"Precisely."

* * *

"You can leave at any time, Aswren. If at any point it becomes too much you can simply walk away. Please do that for me?" Thor whispered into the warm air between them, hand clutched in her hair.

"We don't know what he will do."

The Goddess' icy blue eyes stared up into his before they darted across his worried brow. "I have to know."

His polished teeth ground together underneath the muscles of his cheek. "… All right. Be careful."

She nodded back at him, taking the shorter steps two at a time to the metal doors of this mortal ship. Fury's words barely registered as they slipped open with a soft hiss.

"Get us something useful, Aswren. You'll only get to talk to him once."

* * *

In the holding cell, the trickster was waiting for her, feigning surprise.

" _Lady_  Aswren. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

She swallowed around her thick saliva. "Who said this would be a pleasurable visit?"

"Well, I mean to imply that you are less of a nuisance now that I assess you are a worthy opponent."

Aswren's eyes narrowed at him. "Is that what I am to you, an enemy?"

"Aren't you? You've picked your side of the battlefield, and it is not the one where I stand."

The condescending grin across his lips was grating against her patience. "How about a friend? Even if we don't agree that doesn't mean we stand apart. Am I no longer your wife?"

"You never were. I recall sleepless nights, an alliance between two powerful realms, but nothing more."

" _What_?" Aswren whispered, vanishing in a shimmer to reappear inside the trickster's cage. The heroes watching from the conference room sat up in their seats.

"Can she do that?" Captain pointed at the screen. "Is that safe?"

"Don't disturb them." Thor silenced the murmurs with a wave of his hand.

_"They have to finish what was started."_

"You're going to stand at my feet, and deny that you ever loved me? Hundreds of years?"

"You act surprised. We came together under the terms of a contract, one that has been fulfilled. There's no longer relevance to our relationship."

"Relevance? Loki, you're not making sense."

A thick gulp slithered down her throat as he stepped forward to stand in her space. "The Loki I knew would not pretend that we didn't happen."

"Oh, but Wren." His long, elegant hand crept up to brush a wavy lock of hair from her cheek.

"Did we?"

"Yes!" She moaned in earnest, unwavering in her opinion. "Yes, we did. I've looked into your eyes as you told me so, I've shared your bed, seen you vulnerable, your soul bared to me. No one could build a lie for that long."

"I could, you naïve little girl."

"Loki, stop this. If you don't love me anymore… that kind of wound will heal, but I won't let you do  _this_ —"

His hand shot out to her bicep, gripping like a vice so that she could feel her blood vessels breaking and forming a bruise as he spoke.

"—listen to me, you mewling quim. You don't believe me? You are a pathetic excuse for royalty, heiress to nothing more than an overgrown rock populated by savages and witch doctors. The only redeeming qualities you possess is the title before your name, and this vessel for your pitiful soul. Now here you are, nothing more than a concubine graveling at my feet for a petting, mistaking me for someone capable of an emotion as childish and petty as love. I should have you right here, wipe that  _pathetic_  look off your face, and let you think about the true nature of our relationship as you scream and beg for my pity."

Aswren's mouth was wired shut in a shock that left her paralyzed, the color draining from her face as his poisonous gaze bore holes in complexion. In the other room, Thor dragged a hand over his mouth, forced to sit down as he swallowed a burning lump in his throat.

"Aswren, I am so sorry." He whispered into his palm.

The trickster mistook his own shaking for hers as he stared at her unblinking with red-rimmed, bright blue eyes. "How's that for reasons? You're trembling, you can't even  _speak_. I've broken you with mere words instead of my bo—"

 _CRACK!_  Aswren's fist connected with his temple so that the God toppled over, dazed and fighting the black in his vision.

 _THUD! THUMP. SHINK._ Her boot slammed in the center of his chest, knocking him into the air before he fell on his back, completely caught off guard. He finally regained his depth perception when he felt her foot press into his collarbone, sword drawn and blade pressing into his throat.

"…I should kill you. But I know the sorcery of the Tessaract when I see it."

His bitter chuckle wheezed against the blade of her sword, his Adams apple unable to move properly. "Oh, Aswren. You always were the cleverest girl."

_Gasp._

She immediately pitched her sword away with a loud clang, picking him up by the lapels of his coat to look at his face. The blow to the soft part of his skull caused his eyes to swim, unfocused until they met her own, emerald green and clear.

"Is it really you?"

"…Hello, darling." In the silence of their cage, his whisper raked against her oversensitive ears. Here now, as his real voice spoke for the first time in years and time slowed to a crawl, she didn't have to be strong. She didn't have to paint her face to appear composed for loyal subjects, her mother, father, or even Thor, and the golden mask melted away. Loki alone will set eyes upon this face, the face of a woman at the end of a road long traveled and paved by those who believed to have her best interests in mind. But they couldn't see that the only way to heal two broken hearts is to let them mend each other.

A princess who believed she could never be good enough.

A prince that could never be King.

He taught her to believe that she was beautiful.

She  _begged_  him to understand that not all kings wear a crown.

Their worlds for so long had been so small, and even now through trials and tribulations they were still the center of each other's universes. And is that not what makes them so dangerous? The desire to crush the memories of one who has betrayed you cannot trump an urge to take them back into your arms and whisper that everything will be all right. Especially when they are all you've ever known.

"I want to hate you."

"I want you to be my past."

"And yet I need you to love me."

"I need you to _stay._ "

Neither of them noticed how they had become so entangled, Aswren sitting on his lap, her legs laid out behind his back, body folded into a size that his arms could envelope completely.

"Why is this happening to us?" Aswren whispered into his chest, her voice distorted by tears.

 _"… Because I love you."_  Odin withheld the truth because he thought his son was satisfied with the life that he had made with his best friend. Both fathers waited so long to divulge the nature of their arranged marriage because they knew the two were already in love. Aswren's soul was stolen to curb the guilt Loki would feel if she were to witness his crimes. The vengeance that latched itself to the trickster's heart was poisoning him further when he thought of how Odin had not only wronged him but the woman he loved. And for years he stayed away, protecting Aswren from the war that was coming to Earth, from the celestial beings who would come for him in the event of his failure. And to protect her again, he would pretend that he didn't love her.

_"When we have her, you will long for something as sweet as pain."_

"Get her out of here." Fury's voice commanded from the door.

"What, no! Don't touch me!" Aswren yelled, pulling at the guards that lifted her by the arms up and off the prisoner. They double-cuffed her, hauling her to her feet and dragging her from the cage.

"Let me go! Loki!" She called. The God rose to his feet calmly, brushing off his trousers as he met her eyes. He made no move to answer, nor fight for her release. And as the guards slowly filed out of the glass cage, the door closed with a hiss… and he turned away.

"… I don't understand." She whispered.

In the other room, the soldiers slammed her down into a chair, latching the cuffs to the rungs along the back.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Aswren questioned the man with the eye-patch pacing in front of her.

"I could ask you the same question. You were asked to get information regarding the Tessaract, not get into a fist-fight and host a phony soap opera. You assured me you could get him to talk, but we are no better off than we were an hour ago."

"Let me explain—"

"—no, you're done talking. Now, I don't care if you and Thor are a packaged deal. You are emotionally compromised for this mission and I will not have that as a hindrance. You're off my ship, is that understood?"

_"It's an impressive cage. Built not, I think, for me."_

_"Built for something a lot stronger than you."_

_"Oh, I've heard."_

"… The doctor."

" _What?_ " The captain spat at her.

"Doctor Banner. The monster is his plan, at least on this ship." Her blue refused to meet him, partially ashamed and suddenly interested in her lap.

"And how the hell do you know that?"

"My people are called Vanir. We have limited telepathic connections with those we are close to. When he was under the influence of the Tessaract, I saw that he means to unleash the Hulk."

Nick Fury leaned back on his heels, arms crossed and one good eye pinning her down. "… That's more like it. In exchange for that information, you can stay. For now. But remember why you are here, Asgardian. The man in that glass cage? You're here to fight, or kill him if the situation calls for it. I won't have the safety of everyone on this ship and my planet in jeopardy because you aren't willing to do whatever is necessary."

"… Agreed."

"Good. You'll stay in that chair until I come back. I don't have to tell you what will happen if you leave."

The Captain made something of a sneer on his way out, quite possibly a sigh as the doors swished open and closed behind him. Aswren slumped against her bonds when he passed by the window, mentally dwelling on how fortunate she was that these foolish Midgardians knew nothing of her race and their gifts. She struggled against the steel cuffs holding her to the chair, cursing the position that kept her from gaining leverage to break them apart. Left alone to her own demons, the goddesses' mind wandered back to minutes before, how Loki had not struggled against the guards that watched him rise to his feet.

_He let her go._

She had looked into his eyes, begged for there to be sorcery clouding his irises an icy blue, but there was none.

**_He_ ** _had let her go._


	7. Chapter 7

After their latest brush with the orc pack that was pursuing them, Aryn never thought that she would be so grateful to be surrounded by stone and traveling through the belly of a mountain. In the underground there was little left to the element of surprise, and that was a situation they could all appreciate for now. About a half mile into the tunnel, Aryn noticed a particular parcel in the rock that surrounded her measured steps. It was a piece of wood, as thick as her wrist and splintered at both ends. Amongst the grey walls it was out of place, most likely left from a spear or staff, a remnant of a battle long past. The Halfling unfolded her satchel to pocket the shard, and Bilbo watched with a hobbit's curious eye.

"What are you keeping that for?"

"I'm going to whittle it into something. I've lost Henry, and it will give me something to bury. Maybe I'll leave it somewhere I think he would have liked to see."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I know how much he meant to you. How old was he?"

"Too old to come along on an adventure, that much was obvious. But he was still the best in my stable, and I will honor him properly. He deserves it—the wee devil."

A smile crept onto the other hobbit's lips, and he had to remind his feet to take another step forward. His thoughts were wandering with images of Aryn and her dearest friend, hands plunged deep into the hairs of his mane and urging him faster into an uncharted wilderness or massive plain. She had given him the life of his life, that old pony. She had pushed him hard, far, and taken him on an adventure that he would never have had if Aryn wasn't his master. The other Hobbit had that way about her, a knack for pushing people to their limits and taking them to places they have never known. He supposed that is what made her so intriguing, some might say intoxicating. And if the heated kiss the hobbit had walked in on back on the road was any indication, Thorin had never been opposed so passionately before in every sense of the word. The other dwarves assumed it would be good for him. But to Bilbo, he recognized that whether their relationship would bloom in sunshine or fire was yet to be seen.

"Where does this tunnel come out, Gandalf?" He called to the wizard ahead.

"We'll continue east for not much longer. You will see when we get ther." Gandalf replied over the sound of rushing water through rock.

"East?" Aryn queried. Running water, just beyond the mountains, but not yet to the Greenwood, the facts raced through her mind.

 _Gasp._  "I know exactly where we are!" She cried, squeezing herself small to push past the dwarves and race to the opening of the tunnel.

"Oi, Aryn, what's y'ur hurry, lassie?" Bofur called to her.

"You don't know what's out there!" was Balin's properly placed advice.

"Oh, but I do!" She yelled and threw herself onto the precipice in front of them, a slab of rock overlooking the tributary to the river below. Following the stream, an enormous waterfall hurled itself from the cliff and wound through a populated path to spill from other smaller mouths. The setting sun reflected back sparks of color into the sky off the water, and revealed an entire city in it's wake. Aryn had never seen any place such as this, but she had sworn to set eyes upon this cascade of silver stone before the end of her days. These, after all, were her mother's people.

"The Valley of Imladris." Gandalf informed them.

"Though in the common tongue it is known by another name—"

"—Rivendell." Bilbo answered.

But amongst the fallen jaws of amazement was Thorin's scowl as he only allowed himself to see contempt in this elfish city. He resented it's people, it's beauty, and every single pointed ear in the east and west alike. A bouncing figure obscured his vision, and he glared hard at the woman who was interfering with his melancholy thoughts.

"Isn't it beautiful? By my beard, I could cry."

"Ye' haven't got a beard, lass." Dwalin pointed out.

"So I won't cry." And she didn't, she just turned to her captain with a grin that couldn't be deterred by the ice in his heart. For a long moment he stared at her, as if daring her to look away or remove the childish smile from her heart-shaped face. But adversely, the warmth and genuine excitement in her eyes began to melt the coldness from his gaze, and the dwarf turned away before his voice could betray him.

"This was your plan all along: to seek refuge with our enemy." Thorin's frustration, he realized, would be better directed at a wizard who was willing to argue with him.

"You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring here yourself."

 _That's a very good point._  Bilbo thought to himself.

"You think the elves will give us their blessing? They will try to stop us."

"Of course they will." The 'you idiot' at the end of his sentence was silenced for propriety's sake.

"But we have questioned that need to be answered. If we are to be successful, this must be handled with tact, and respect, and no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me."  _You idiot._

The closer they came to the city, the more anxious Thorin and Aryn became in completely different ways. At one point, a happy whimper squeaked from her nose and Thorin's arm shot out to protect her from a fall that he thought had taken place. When she only looked at him with those confused, sinfully large, olive green eyes, he cursed them and their sorcery, trudging on to the gates. A young elf was there to greet them, or anyone that came to the gates, and he offered a warm smile and gentle hand to the wizard who addressed him.

"Ah, Lindir!"

 _We heard you had crossed into the valley_. He replied in perfect elfish.

"I must speak with Lord Elrond."

"My Lord Elrond is not here."

"Hmm… Where is he?"

Not seconds later they all heard the crow of an elfish horn, their ears turning to the gate to pick up the flurry of hoof beats and armor clanking. The cavalry of a dozen horses was approaching fast, a wall of equine and elf that wasn't going to be anything less than a threat to the dwarves. Thorin's arm shot out again to shield their smallest Halfling, crowding her towards the middle of the group with his wider frame.

"Close ranks!" He ordered as they all huddle together, theirs axes drawn, and the hobbits pressed tightly to one another in the center.

"Ow, you're on my foot!" Aryn quipped at Thorin, ramming her elbow into his back.

"Hey, you, watch your hands." He warned.

"Do you have any idea how much you weigh?"

"Quiet."

"I think you broke my toe…"

" _Ahem._ " The clearing of Gandalf's throat brought all of their attention back to him and the king.

"Lord Elrond. Where have you been?" He smiled, his arms outstretched for an embrace.

"We've been hunting a pack of orcs that came up from the South. We slew a number of them near the Hidden Pass." Jumping down from his horse, the elf came over to hold his old friend, an orcish blade pressed in his hand.

"Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders. Something, or someone, must have drawn them near." Lord Elrond looked pointedly at the crowd of dwarves at his gate.

Gandalf gestured to the leader of their company as he and Dwalin stepped forward into an imaginary spotlight. "Oh, well, that might have been us."

"… Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain."

"I do not believe we have met." The propriety was practically pulled from him with little sincerity or good-will.

"You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the Mountain.

"Indeed. He made no mention of you."

A slow inhale came up the elf's lungs to quell his temper, but the anger was thrown completely from his mind when he let his eye be caught by the spark of reddish hair and effulgent green eyes at the center of the dwarfish men. His impressive mind immediately began to try to decipher her leaf-shaped ears that should not have gone with a body comparable to a tiny human.

"You hide from me the little one." Elrond observed with a hint of amusement, pointing to how the dwarves crowded her, their axes still raised.

"Step forward, child. Allow me to make your acquaintance as well."

Albeit willingly, the taller men slowly parted to reveal her. And only after looking around thoroughly did Aryn actually approach the elf that was taller than most men. But despite his great size and sophisticated air, she couldn't help but trust him, this elf that her mother had mentioned and called 'one of the greatest minds of their age'. But that was her mother's life. This Halfling would have to guard her steps carefully if the same good fortune was to come her way. "… Aryn Olivebranch, your majesty. A Hobbit of the Iron Hills."

"Forgive my forwardness, Lady Aryn, but that is an unusual title that you hold. I will have to inquire later."

Thorin bristled in his own defense, moving to stand between the two. "She is a part of my company, and will be addressed with our permission."

The elf looked amused, failing to hide the curve in his mouth. "You mean yours?"

"You—"  _Thump._  The weight of Dwalin's axe against his chest held the other dwarf back, his temper momentarily curbed.

"… Come. All of you, you may rest here for as long as you need. Dinner will be served shortly."

* * *

The term 'shortly', of course, was relative to the extended lifespan of an elf. Almost an hour the dwarves had tried to busy themselves without seeming impatient or impolite. And all the while resisting the urge to ask the question of 'what the hell was taking so long?' One of the oldest members of their company had practically worn a hole in her leggings with the silent drumming of her own fingers, proving that patience does not necessarily come with age. Well, that and the reality that they all had gone weeks without a proper meal or bed. Aryn hauled herself to her aching feet and placed her pack on the seat next to a dozing Ori. Poor lamb wasn't sleeping well either, she supposed. And with a discrete headcount, the Halfling slipped away around the nearest column and through a curtain to a smaller adventure inside the one she was already in.

"Where do you think you're going?"

The startled woman turned to Bilbo when he touched her arm with a finger. "Just to look around. Maybe get into trouble. Care to join me?"

"I have to now. Someone has to make sure you don't go wondering off where you shouldn't."

"Oh, but isn't that the point of exploring? Learning secrets and having a merry chase while you're at it?"

"Well, that does sound fun. And who could refuse a journey with such a pretty lady?" His smile was genuine but most certainly not naïve, and it a hearty laugh from her stomache. She reached out to tweak his nose and smile back.

"Don't let Thorin hear you speak that way."

"Oh, right!" He dropped his voice down to a laughable whisper.

"The king might very well have me beheaded for complimenting his consort."

"Oh, he would never do that. Exiled, yes. Never beheaded."

They rounded a sharp corner and Bilbo looked over his shoulder to ensure they weren't being pursued. His voice was still rather hushed and secretive. "So, what's going to happen now? You've… snogged in the woods. But beyond that, Thorin  _really_  likes you in his own, stoic way. Do dwarves have some sorts of courting rituals?"

Aryn had to stop, collecting her thoughts before she looked at the other Hobbit with an uncharacteristic seriousness. "… I don't know. I know of dwarfish customs, I know how serious these matters are to them. But whatever feelings aside, I am still an outsider: a non-dwarf. The rules are surely different."

Bilbo stepped in front of her, watching her eyes grow weary and fade away in a haunted expression that foresees darkness and destruction. His hand slipped inside her own. "Aryn, tell me. What's wrong?"

"The truth? I'm preparing for heartbreak. Oh, sure, we're all fancy now, but what about when we reach the mountain? He's a king, Bilbo, the rightful king of Erebor. Consorting with outsiders is strange enough, and they wouldn't accept me for  _him_. There's not a drop of royal blood in these veins. I'm just a blacksmith."

"And last time I checked, so was he. The mountain is a long way off, Aryn, and you have all that time to prove yourself worthy of the exception."

"Worth isn't the issue. It's against the rules, him and I."

"When have you, Aryn Olivebranch, ever followed a rule that you thought was unfair?" Bilbo smiled at her, squeezing her hand.

The upward tick in the corner of her mouth couldn't be helped, really. "Not since ever."

"And, you know, I do  _so_  love a good wedding. You are going to invite me, aren't you?"

"Stop right there, Bilbo Baggins, who said anything about getting married? I like my job, my house, and the freedom to come and go as I please."

"If you marry the right person, you won't have to give up anything that you love."

 _Or you could have to give up everything._  She thought in regard to her parents, their humble home beside the workshop, and the dragon fire that had reduced it all to ash. Amidst her turbid thoughts, a carving on the wall behind Bilbo's ear caught her attention. It was the only word in Elfish that she knew how to read.

"Elliya?"

"Who?"

Aryn quickly scanned the room up to the ceiling, squinting in the glittering light. The two Hobbits had been so busy with each other's voices that neither bothered to notice the room in which they had wandered. Intricate columns supported the seven walls around them, and each wall was segmented by thousands of stones of varying sizes. On each stone was a name in Elfish, and a short phrase. Some were embellished by precious metals, or enchanted to glow a pale blue color. The room was aglow, and a beacon of light shown down from a circular skylight in the center of the ceiling. The beam illuminated a single stone of the floor, it's plain surface visibly worn compared to the magnificence of the rest of the floor. Looking back at her mother's name, she wondered why 'Elliya' was written in plain text. No embellishment or doting phrase. Just a name.

"You should be heading to dinner, young hobbits." Elrond's voice came from the doorway behind them.

"W-what is this place, my lord?" Aryn asked.

"That is a subject for another time, I believe. All I will say is that this room is a dark place. Not one that quivers with anger or fear, but lies still in sadness. You should not concern yourself with such a burden."

"But I know one of those names. It's the only Elfish I know—Elliya."

Lord Elrond tried to hide the surprise in his eyes, but his suddenly eager gaze darted across her face with the makings of an idea. It was related to an epiphany, an idea that festers in the mind, itching one's consciousness and forbidding rest until it is either confirmed or refuted.

"…How do you know that name?"

"I knew her in my youth."

"Fascinating. A friend of your family, perhaps?"

"Something like that."

* * *

In the darkness of the night after dinner, the dwarves had rejected rooms to camp in the courtyard, burning the elfish furniture to produce a healthy fire. The setting was so more familiar and welcoming than the plush beds and stone rooms of the palace: their company, chatting around a roaring fire and curling up in their bed rolls to the tune of the other's snoring.

While the dwarves ate with contentment, warming their food on stakes, Bilbo and Aryn had taken to their own corner, quietly conversing instead of laughing loudly. Aryn would have preferred to be sociable, but she knew Bilbo still felt uncomfortable and she chose to keep him company while he was bent over a piece of parchment that he had snagged from the drawing room.

"You know..." He mumbled while shading expertly.

"I've told you about my home and what I love. Why don't tell me more about yourself? What about your family? You've kept your past a right mystery to us all."

"Oh." She smiled sadly, chuckling quietly and looking down where she sharpened her blade. "Well, it's a funny story actually—my being here."

"What do you mean?" Bilbo queried. By now, the curiosity of the dwarves had been peaked a little, and Thorin was the first of many to turn his ear.

"The people back home hated my parents for being together; they weren't supposed to fall in love. Bein' from rival families and all." She waved her hand dismissively.

"They eventually moved away to a place where no one knew their names, and even gave me own surname so I would not be associated with either of their pasts. Olivebranch is my name, and mine alone."

"…Where are your parents now?" Bilbo whispered, putting down his sketchbook to stare at her thoughtfully.

"They died when I was just coming of age. A terrible fire took their lives and leveled the entire town. I was one of a handful that survived. Ever since, I've been to the Shire, the Iron Hills, and back again trying to find another place to call home. Funny, how hard it is to find a new place to settle down when you feel like you never left your old home to begin with. You're still there, dwelling, left longing with no sense of closure or hope for anything that could compare."

Thorin watched from the other side of the fire, staring at her vulnerable face with his own guard down. Something inside him began to grow, causing his heart to ache when he met her gaze, and a sharp pang of jealousy to shoot up his gut when the other Hobbit leaned over to put his arm around her shoulder.

"You speak for all of us, lassie." Balin sighed from across the fire.

"We are with you."

"… I'm so sorry." Bilbo whispered, touching his lips to her hair.

Aryn didn't look over at him, and shrugged her angular shoulders. "You would think two centuries is enough time to heal a broken heart."

He reeled back to stare at her wide-eyed. "My god,  _how_  old are you?"

"Well." Her own wide eyes blinked at him, mouth gaping nervously.

"I mean that as a figure of speech. I'm not really almost two hundred. I'm still old enough to be your mother though."

"If you started  _very_  young. Shamefully so."

"You still don't know how old I am!"

"Not that old! For goodness' sake, you look like you could be my  _younger_  sister!"

"Oh, you're a flatterer, that's what you are."

"I'm honest." He stressed.

"Oh, stop. Eat your vegetables." She gestured to his forgotten food on the seat.

"Maybe you are my mother after all."

"Ha! Well, I'm going to leave you to your sketching while I go chat up the gloomiest of our company." Aryn's green eyes twinkled playfully, standing up to adjust her tunic. The chatter around the fire had resumed, the dwarves attention successfully—thankfully, Aryn thought—removed from her and places back into the quiet hum of idle small-talk.

Bilbo's eyes widened when he followed her gaze, pursing his lips at the brooding Thorin. "He looks darker than usual. You do realize you might not come back alive?"

"You know me well enough to know I don't fear death. I laugh in the space between its jaws." She rose with a puff of her chest to step carefully around the fire and make her way towards the hulking figure.

Her hips settled softly on the log next to him, coat pulled close despite the warmth of the flames. "How are you feeling? I trust you've gotten enough to eat, and are warm?"

"You shouldn't worry yourself with my well-being." He continued to break wood in silence for the fire, rolling his eyes when he realized she wasn't satisfied with his answer.

"Although, it is hard to enjoy the supposed 'comforts' that the  _Elves_  offer my company."

"So, if you closed your eyes…" She led him by example with a deep breath to fully expand her ribs and the fur around her coat collar.

"Would that make the wine sweeter? The fire warmer?"

The king's eyes darted around her pretty features, hardening his gaze at the nature of her question.

"That's a lovely pendant you wear." He proclaimed as he turned to stare back into the fire.

"Hm? Oh, my father gave it to me when I was younger." The Halfling's small hands came up to clasp the emerald stone nestled in vines of gold, surrounded by diamonds cut into the shapes of leaves.

She continued, running a finger over it appreciatively. "His most precious treasures in one place, he said."

It was that smile of adoration that she gave to the bundle of precious metal which stirred a familiar knot in Thorin's stomach. He mistook her smile at her palms for a gold lust, and deduced that without his throne and spoils, his affection could never be returned. To her, he must seem hardly a king at all without his kingdom. She had allowed him to kiss her, demanded it actually, but the desire of the flesh is fickle. Ultimately, he could not provide all that she deserved, and it only increased the gold lust in his veins. Her kindness that held no prejudice, the spirit of a hero, even her beauty alone deserved a dowry of every coin within Erebor's walls, and he could not give it to her. Red, swelling anger festered beneath his iron skin, and it boiled over in the direction of his beloved.

"You shouldn't be here." He brooded bitterly, poking the fire with a shard of wood to occupy his hands.

" _What?_ "

"You're a woman, Aryn." He stated simply.

"Excuse you?"

"No woman should have to see battle like you will. You belong at home, protected, without dirt and blood smearing your clothes. There are not many women of my kind, so it is a serious matter—keeping them guarded as treasure."

She didn't know how to reply, taken aback by the kindness in his motives. It wasn't a doubt in her skill, but a disgust that no one cared enough to keep her from leaving home. And perhaps a fear that she would die in his arms? The entire company had fallen quiet again to watch them, interested beyond containment. They whispered amongst each other while making hand gestures and placing wages.

"My situation is unfortunate but it's a choice I made on my own."

"Then you are a fool." He looked at her hard, trying to push the horror of his thoughts back in the dark recesses of consciousness from whence they came. These waking nightmares tortured him with the images of her last moments, blood soaking the shirts over her abdomen, the same bright red dribbling in a pitiful line from the corner of her petal mouth. She wouldn't cry, curse her warrior's soul, and instead her eyes would be wide awake as he held her weakened frame, piercing shards of green that wound deeper than any blade.

_You did this to me._

"Thorin? Come back to me, darling." The gentle prodding of her voice ripped him from the dungeon of his mind, not as comforting as it should have been.

"I lost you for a moment there."

_No. It was I who lost you._

He cleared his throat to test his voice before he allowed himself to speak. "My apologies. What… were you saying?"

"I was agreeing with you. The risks are great, perhaps unfair of me to take on in regards to the customs you uphold. But I wanted to ask you a question."

The only response as he gave her his undivided attention was a stoic nod for her to continue.

"Tell me, if I have forfeited my right to be protected from home..." She leaned forward, invading his space to mutter intimately. Someone gasped, unabashedly enjoying the show.

"… Then will you protect me here?" Her voice was a whisper, barely understood by his ears, and her eyes, those doe, brilliantly green eyes, bared her vulnerable soul. In that moment of offering herself, the anger he held onto visibly faded from his face.

"You have my word."

She broke into a smile, and the tips of her pointed ears rose with the stretch of her cheeks. "In return, I shall protect you if I can."

 _That_  made him chuckle, and his deep baritone nearly shook the log. He placed a hand on her knee and rubbed it there. "You're scarcely up to my shoulder, little one. I fear for you against something that overpowers myself."

She laughed, though slightly offended. "I told you the first time we met not to underestimate me, Thorin Oakenshield. I will save your life one day, mark my words."

"I really would love to see that."

"I'll bet you coin that I could hold my own even against you." She pointed a small finger at his chest.

He smiled, turning to poke the fire. "I am not having this conversation with you."

"Oh, Thorin. You may be made of stone, but I'm quicker and lighter than you by an entire sack of bricks."

"Most would call that my advantage." One thick eyebrow shot up into his hairline with a smirk.

"We'll just have to test our theories, won't we?"

"... Not tonight. You should be resting."

"You would walk away from a challenge?"

"In your best interest, yes." He nudged her chin gently with his knuckles, rubbing the defined line of her jaw with the pad of his thumb.

"Let the flames in your heart go down, and save that fire for our enemies."

"Yes, Captain."

"Thorin." A deeper voice called from outside their company, and Gandalf descended the short path of steps to outstretch his hand. "Balin, and Bilbo. Our presence is requested."

* * *

Although none of the dwarves realized it, their entire journey until now had been a quest to get this far, to get to Rivendell. Without the help of the elves to read the ancient dwarfish and moon runes—they discovered later—every step, every painful mile would be all for naught. Their company would gather at the small, unseen door with not a prayer to open it, and simply wait on the mountainside for death or the dragon, whichever came first. As expected, Lord Elrond was able to provide the answers they so desperately needed, but not without his seal of disapproval.

"There are some who not deem it wise, especially not in the company you've chosen." Thorin didn't answer him, and snatched the map back with silent anger.

"What do you mean?" Gandalf questioned.

"You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle Earth. That woman will be your downfall."

Thorin bristled and stepped into the elf's space. "Mind your tongue when you speak of her. Explain yourself."

"Before this evening, she mentioned a name to me, one I know well: Elliya. She was an elf on my council, smart and just, who abandoned her post and left Rivendell to marry a dwarf. Does the name 'Karan' ring true?"

"…He was a miner of Moria. He left his home for reasons unsaid, but rumor surfaced that he was going to—"

The King's eyes darted around in disbelief. "—to marry an Elf."

"Neither city was... pleased with their decisions, but they managed to elope. It was said they would never be able to have children, their species were simply not compatible. That is obviously not so."

The dwarf looked amazed and disgusted at Elrond, his mouth clenched together. "You mean to imply...?"

"That the mixed child of two famous deserters has been found. She hid successfully for nearly two-hundred years, and has finally landed here in Rivendell. The first of a species—half-elf, half-dwarf—in our company. It's truly remarkable."

"She told us that she was a Hobbit, mere shire-folk." Thorin murmured, his tone hallowing from the knot of bile inside his chest.

"That was our assumption when we began a search for her; the resemblance is enough to obscure suspicion. As far as this quest to Erebor, she cannot be allowed to continue. Aryn must stay in Rivendell."

Thorin looked up with a strange mix of his conflicting emotions: bitter betrayal and a worry that bloomed from the fondness he couldn't shake. "What are you going to do?"

"We will give her everything she could ever want, and offer complete protection within these walls. Not everyone will treat a half-breed with such generosity."

Gandalf stepped forward in earnest. "But this is a person, not some trophy that you can lay claim. She has some say, I would think."

Thorin was becoming increasingly irritated, and snapped at the wizard and his friends. "Gandalf. Balin, and Bilbo. Leave us."

"Thorin, you can't be expected to—"

"—Leave." He snarled. The three men filed out obediently, leaving Thorin and Elrond alone as the dwarf raked his hands through his hair.

"Rest assured, Master Dwarf, she will be happy here. We can offer her protection, tutors, even training if she asked of it."

Elrond paused before he continued, watching the dwarf pace. "The dragon has not been seen for some time, but your chances of reclaiming Erebor are still minute. Let us give Aryn a better life than she could ever hope to receive—"

Thorin reeled on the King to meet his eyes with ferocity and a warning growl low in his throat.

"—Let us guarantee her safety, something you cannot."

At that the dwarf backed down, rubbing a hand over his face. Was this not what he wanted, a way for Aryn to be spared from the destruction and death that awaited them at their final destination? Any wish of the heart is granted with a catch, as all aspects of life come with an equal and opposite reaction. What would be the cost of her sanctuary?

The dwarf turned his back on Elrond and left the room with heavy steps that overpowered the voice in his head telling him to turn back. "Keep her."


	8. Chapter 8

Under the pavilion, the fire was still flickering across the darkness of the night sky, it's orange glow illuminating the polished silver of Aryn's dagger. She had abandoned the task of sharpening her sword for the better part of an hour, choosing to whittle her totem for Henry instead. This place, the pinnacle of elfish beauty in the east, is one she believed he would have liked to see. On the last gust of chilly wind that flew by her ear rode the soft song of a flute, and Aryn looked up to see Bofur cradling his instrument to his lips. All of the faces around the fire seemed to fall into contentment, the faintest she had seen their frown lines in a long while. In this fraction of a moment, they were no longer lost souls or even wandering soldiers, but merely a gathering of brothers at the end of a long day. What she would have given to see that peace last upon their brows for just a minute longer.

But the peace was not meant to last as Bilbo and Balin came down the steps to their camp with the potential for enough horrible news to cast shadows over every person in the company.

The eldest dwarf looked at her hard, a disapproving frown buried in his beard. "… Oh, Aryn.

Her heart trembled in panic, and a sickening knot tightened around her stomache when Bilbo refused to meet her gaze. Behind them, the march of angry boots sent a shiver between her shoulder blades.

Thorin shoved his shoulder through the three men and his second in command immediately stood to stop the dwarf's advance if his temper unraveled too fast for his wits.

" _You!_ " He sneered.

"Me? What's going on?" The usual bite in her tone was gone, stomped down by the dread that formed a lump of nausea in her throat.

"This woman is not who she claims to be. She has been taking us for fools ever since she joined us in the Shire. Since she walked through Mr. Baggins' door nothing but lies have left her lips. The woman who stands before us is Aryn Olivebranch, but she is no Hobbit. She's not even a whole person. You're looking at the Half-Breed Child, a myth pulled from a fireside story and into real life." He growled as he walked forward to circle her. For this offense, he would make sure that his prey would fall.

"Thorin, please, stop this." She whispered while following his gaze.

"Half-dwarf, half-elf. Karan is her father—you all here are familiar with him. He was a traitor who abandoned his people to marry an elf, and evade a war in the process. A war that was as much his fight as it was ours!"

Aryn's temper slowly bristled under his voice as she turned to face him. "My father's choices are not my fault. I will not be punished for his actions!"

"Your father was a deserter! And you are his legacy."

"You are  _prejudiced._ "

"Karan stands apart from our people. Unmarred, unscarred. Where was he when Moria was burning, ransacked by goblins and orcs?"

" _Dead._ When Moria was at war I had already seen him, and my mother destroyed in front of my eyes, crushed by the rubble of our home and turned to ash by a dragon's fire!"

A stunned silenced followed, and Bofur was the first to speak from the crowd of dwarves behind Thorin. "…Is that true, Aryn?"

The woman was shrunken under their gaze, barely holding her ground as she mounted a haphazardly defense. "It's all true. When I said I had centuries to grieve I wasn't joshing anyone. I was _there_. You wanted to know where I'm truly from, so there you have it. The sacking of Erebor, I saw it from the smoldering wreckage of my home in Dale. So don't you  _dare_  slander my father's name when he never had the chance to go to war."

"Oh, he is not my only grievance against you. You lied to  _all_  of us, and I cannot begin to speak for the betrayal of my men. Was it so easy as you made it seem?"

"… My whole life is a lie. If anyone less than tolerant was to find out who I really was, I'd have a line of angry villagers beating a hole in my door. All of my life, I've hidden my identity in hopes of living somewhat normally, and it was working. I was just another Hobbit until you had to find out what I really was: a-a freak of nature, a half-breed, a  _liar_. From the beginning I made it clear that I didn't want to disappoint you. And I meant it. So no, Thorin, it wasn't easy. But I did what I had to."

His jaw clenched as he swallowed around his dry throat. "Were you ever going to tell us the truth?"

She shifted under his impatient gaze. "I wouldn't know how."

After her latest statement, Thorin felt no guilt for what he was about to say. In his mind, she would have continued to lead them into lies forever. Even if he had entertained the idea of courting her and challenging all of the customs he had grown upon, it would be marriage to a woman he didn't know. The memory of her lips and body against him were haunting, as if he had kissed a ghost that didn't truly exist. The Aryn he knew was gone, faded into the fiction of a lifelong lie. He fought for a reason to explain how he could have been so blinded by lust and another, much kinder emotion that he didn't recognize. In light of the day's events, he refused to call it love and would only admit that he had cared  _deeply_  for a woman that was nothing more than a magic trick. A shadow of the person standing in front of him, who he was convinced was so different from the hobbit with fire in her heart that had stolen his own and ran. Was she? He thought so, and Thorin Oakenshield would be damned if the memory of his broken heart followed him all the way to Erebor.

"You will not travel with my company any longer. I should never have allowed you to come in the first place and I am amending my mistake right now."

 _What?_ Came the echoes of the dwarves as they emerged from their melancholy trance to realize what was about to happen.

"What? That's not your call to make! I deserve this journey as much as you do!"

"You deserve  _nothing_! Your job was to protect my men, and now that you have lost my trust there is no purpose for you here… You are nothing to me."

_You are nothing to me._

The words echoed in her mind, doubled in strength by his dark blue eyes that pinned her down by the nape of the neck, daring her to disobey him. On any other day, under any other situation she would have, but not this day. She was vulnerable, exposed in all of her secrets, and helpless for the first time in her life. Her secrets were the tiniest of cracks in the hot steel of her armor, and he had ran his blade through the epicenter with all the force behind it of him and his bitter heart. The blows erupted out in large, spidery breaks to her spirit until she shattered. This was the exact opposite of what he hoped would happen, and in his quest for a fight she crumbled. Everyone has their weaknesses, and with the right amount of pressure even the mightiest warrior can be brought to their knees.

"…Fine, Sir."

" _What?_ " Bilbo parroted, more than a little late.

A single nod was the only reply that Aryn received from her commander. It was a signal that she was dismissed, and her services were no longer required.

"You can't be serious? You're leaving?" Kili questioned as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd.

"It's none of your business, Kili. This is between your uncle and myself." Aryn deadpanned, pulling a flinch from the young man when he expected a much kinder response. She swiped at her own face, angrily wiping the evidence of tears as she gathered her bedroll and clothes into a pack. The entire company found themselves stunned and incapable of a coherent response. Only Kili found the strength to move.

"Then am I not a part of this company? I have as much right to speak as any."

"Not this time, Kili." Thorin rumbled in his direction.

"You will accept my decision and understand that I am only pursuing the best interest of my company."

"…I can't. I'm sorry, Thorin, but I can't accept this. Aryn—"

The Halfling slowly met him with wide eyes and took a step in his direction. "Yes, Kili?"

"I won't say that I'm not upset. I'm heart-broken actually, but that doesn't mean that you aren't my friend… and the closest thing that my brother and I have to a mother in this wilderness."

"It's true, Aryn." Fili stepped forward to stand by his sibling.

"And it's because we love you that we can find a way, somehow, to forgive."

"We hate seeing you like this, lassie." Dwalin mumbled when he came forward to put a hand on her head.

"Where's the spitfire that took on three grown trolls all by her lonesome?"

"And my sister?" Bilbo asked, the first makings of a sentence he had spoken all night.

"Where did she go?"

Aryn's bright eyes darted from dwarf to dwarf, searching each and every man for a sliver on sincerity. More than anything she wanted to believe them, believe that their eyes held not contempt or pity, but it's more beautiful cousin: love. Instead of feeling sorry for the orphan without a home, they only wanted to help. For everything she had done for them, they would do the same.

"I believe… I believe your story has changed, Aryn, but you have not." Balin said in the silence.

"Will you prove me wrong?"

"… No. But I will revise my strategy." She turned to Thorin, whose expression had not softened from the minutes before when he had commanded her to leave his sight.

"You didn't know where I came from, or even who I was. I'll tell you that I am stubborn, explicit, defiant, and a bit forthright for most people, but you knew that all along. I haven't changed, Thorin, and am every bit the pain in the arse that I was an hour ago. Surely you won't hold that against me? At least not forever."

There was a tense silence, his dark blue eyes cold and tired as they almost watered at her own, pleading gaze.

"Go home, Aryn."

"… Thorin, please—"

"—I won't say it again." He growled, stepping into her space.

"Get out of my sight."

"You still don't get it, do you? You stupid, stubborn dwarf!" She shouted into his face, rearing back her arm to strike his chest. The much larger man grabbed her wrist in his thick fingers and twisted behind her back to hold her still against his chest. The silent makings of tears bubbled down her cheek as she pulled and grappled for purchase, letting out a defeated whimper when he squeezed her arm just enough to keep her still.

"… Let me go." She whispered with a sniff of her nose.

"Are you going to try to hit me again?"

"Just let go."

"What still don't I understand?" He demanded as his grip loosened enough for her to fall away and regain balance on her own feet.

Without answering him immediately the disgruntled little woman rubbed at her face as she stalked away, elbowing dwarves out her path up the steps.

"Aryn." Thorin barked, holding her bracer where it had come undone from her arm in their scuffle.

She whipped around to glare at him. "What home?!"

And then she was gone. Her auburn hair was the last flash of color the company could see before she disappeared over the top of the steps and retreated into the inner workings of the palace. Thorin's men all turned to look at him after they watched her take off, their expressions more than enough to drive a hot spear of guilt through his stomach, a feeling he desperately tried to stamp down.

"…It's getting late. Return to your bed rolls, and try to get some rest. We leave at dawn." The dwarf ordered quietly, unable to bear the faces of his brothers.

Their company disbursed in silence, even the fire dying down and quiet as it mourned in it's own right. The courtyard that had been a shelter teeming with life and merriment only an hour before was cold and unwelcoming, now merely a place to sleep. Or at least try to.

* * *

On the far side of the palace, Gandalf and Elrond had been having their own row over the matter of the Half-Breed child. Neither were aware of the events that were transpiring on the other side of the grounds, or what silent agreements had just been made.

"This is entirely unfair. You can't expect Aryn to willingly stay here." Gandalf reasoned.

"And why not? We can give her everything she could ever want. All her unanswered questions are here, and it is here that her answers can also be found."

"This pilgrimage is extremely important to her. I doubt there is any amount of fine food or books that could keep that child away from Erebor for long. And besides… she's quite  _fond_  of Thorin—"

"—a man who has relented their friendship. Honestly, Gandalf, I'm only trying to do what's most beneficial for the girl."

"Do you truly have Aryn's best interests at heart? Or is it her potential for power that you wish to use to your advantage?"

"You have seen it for yourself, Gandalf. The Greenwood is sick, trolls are vacating the mountains, and the paths of these Orcs have not gone unnoticed for many moons. Rivendell, as of late, has grown anxious. Precautions must be taken now or we may find ourselves overwhelmed by an enemy that we can neither understand nor anticipate."

"And what if she refuses? Aryn will answer to no one, you had to anticipate  _that_."

"It is not me that she will answer to." Elrond motioned through an archway to a tall, She-Elf with lengthy blonde hair and a kind face.

"Lady Galadriel." Gandalf sighed, a contented smile washing over him.

" _Mithrandir._  It has been a long time."

The old wizard stepped towards her in an awe, his head bowed in humility and hands busying themselves in his fraying sleeves. "Age may have changed me, but not so much the Lady of Lorien."

* * *

"Thorin." Balin stated in the same voice that the younger dwarf recognized from his youth when a scolding was imminent. Most of the company had retired to their bed rolls, but their commander and their elder had unfinished business to attend to.

"What is it, Balin?" He asked quietly when they had walked a distance from the supposedly sleeping dwarves by the fire.

"… What's gotten into you? What were you thinking, sending that little lass away like that?"

"Sending that woman away was in the best interest of my men. I will not keep a liar in my company, especially not one such as a half-breed with an elf."

"In  _our_  best interest? Or that of your wounded pride? You and I both know that her race has nothing to do with this. Your feelings have not changed just because her identity has." The younger dwarf looked startled at his elder.

"It's not hard to see, Thorin. I've known you for all your life, and have never seen you allow a woman as close as Aryn. You had to realize that by opening your heart to anyone is a risk. Yes, she fooled you, fooled all of us. I only want you to answer this question for me."

Thorin's mouth held firm in a thin line, unable to look away from his mentor.

"What does that matter? Aryn has been a great asset to this company even before you realized her true heritage. Does it really make her so different from the Hobbit lass who has fought alongside us since the Shire?"

"You admit she has never been honest with us. How could I possibly trust her from now on?"

"And you would have told the truth if you were in her position? Knowing that this is the precise reaction that would come from it? Do not blame her, Thorin, for the choices that we and the rest of world have forced her to make."

The dwarf's large palm came up to scratch his beard nervously. "What kind of message will this send to the men? They all feel betrayed in some way."

"You would appear as a king who knows when to show mercy. You make two assumptions, both incorrect. The first is that those men are unwilling to forgive, and the second is that you are not also to blame. I believe if you looked harder, you would find that you alone are fighting her the hardest."

The muscles along Thorin's jaw were clenched tight as he stamped down his pride, swallowing the hot shame that crept up his esophagus.

"…Fine. But I will not insist that she stay. The choice is hers, and she must know that she is not wanted." With that he marched off again, unwilling to apologize but complacent. And that was good enough for Balin.

* * *

The dwarf dragged his feet along the corridor, looking around at all the rooms that had been designated to his men but went unused. He motioned to a servant, mumbling a request incoherently and nodding a curt thank you when the elf gestured to the last door on the right. His fist was about to pound on the wood when a tiny whimper squeaked through the wood and landed in his keen hearing. He paused, leaning forward to listen closer and recognizing the soft sound of weeping on the other side of the door.

_Knock knock knock._

"Who is it?" Aryn asked after clearing her throat, an over-exaggerated compensation in her voice.

"… It's me. May I speak to you in private?"

There was a pregnant pause, and the dwarf contemplated that she might have fallen asleep. He was willing to accept any excuse that would allow him to walk away and back down the hall.

"The door's unlocked."

Thorin briefly blinked at the door, unused to the permission to come into a woman's bedchambers, and his mind briefly derailed.

"Do you mean to meet me in the courtyard?"

"No, you moron, enter the room." She quipped, sounding tired.

Without another thought, the dwarf stepped inside, emotionally disarmed when he spotted Aryn on the bed, obviously having just sat up from where she was curled under the blankets. A damp spot on the linen near where her head would have lied sent a spike of cold through his belly.

"Sit." Aryn offered, motioning to the spot beside her.

"What did you want to speak with me about, Sir?"

He winced at the title, dipping the bed where his weight settled on the rumpled sheets. "You are still allowed to use my name, Aryn."

"…What did you want to speak with me about, Thorin?"

"I…" All of the options began to run through his head in quick succession.

_I wanted to apologize._

_I want you to come with me._

_I need you by my side._

_I lo—_

"—I wish to reinstate your status with my company." How poetic. Aryn stared at him as if he'd grown a sprout from between his eyes.

"You want me to come with you?"

"My men have requested that you not be left behind. You have been a valuable asset to us, and it would be foolish to travel without you."

"… I see. Your  _men_  would miss me an awful lot, eh?"

"That's right. They would be disappointed if you didn't join us."

"Uh huh. Well, then." She clapped her hands on her knees, hopping down and pacing in front of the bed.

"That's quite an argument. Can I ask a few questions?" Thorin opened his mouth to refute her sarcasm before she rattled on but was cut off.

"Can I expect an apology in the future, maybe now?"

"Hold on, I was completely justified to react the way I did—"

"—and you're saying you wouldn't miss me at all?"

He held up a hand to her. "If you would stop interrupting me, I would explain that there aren't specific  _words_  for me to express myself—"

"What? No! I've heard enough. I won't be patronized by you or anyone else."

Thorin rose to his feet. "Insufferable woman, let me speak!"

"Say it! If you can't say it, then you can leave. Right now." Her desperate green eyes looked hard up at him, daring him to finish his sentence. Hoping by Mahal's grace that he would.

"I…" He ground out, a large hand unconsciously coming up to cup her bicep gently, the same one that he had bruised in the past. The touch seemed to steady them, unable to move except waiting for the other to speak.

"I can't." Was the whisper that shattered their silence. A single tear slipped down the woman's cheek, and Thorin averted his eyes, tasting the sour shame on his lead tongue.

"Get out."

"Aryn—"

"—Leave." She growled, desperate to trade this unfamiliar sadness for an anger that she knew how to quell.

The room buzzed with tension and pent up emotion as he silently cursed himself, slamming the door as he left with a rush of cold air. It was all the strength the Halfling could gather to lay herself down on the mused sheets and gather the pieces of dignity.

All into the night as Aryn cursed that stubborn, pig-headed dwarf and his pride, what she didn't realize was that they were both at risk of being consumed by their demons. There was also no way she could have known that Gandalf was fighting for her freedom at the same moment she relinquished it. Galadriel would see the dwarves as they left at dawn, and immediately notice that they traveled a member short. There was only one person that could mend the Halfling's broken heart, the one person who held the smallest piece of hers as she held the largest piece of his.

* * *

By the time Aryn awoke to the mid-day sky, she knew that the city had been deserted of dwarves for some time. The fine linen of her bed was suffocating, grating against her irritated skin. On the vanity, her old clothes had been cleaned to lay on top of the chair, and a new outfit of velvet and a long skirt were laid out proudly on the table. She padded over to the wash basin, picking up the hem of the dress with an obvious sneer of disdain. Did they sincerely expect her to wear such a frivolous frock every day?

Upon squeezing into the bust of the dress, probably made for an elven child and hastily tailored for a woman, Aryn's adept fingers wandered over the neckline and her bare shoulders. The contrast of her golden skin, darkened by the sun and peppered with freckles, seemed out of place next to the pale green of the dress. A grunt of frustration fell from her lips as she pulled a brush through her unruly waves, carefully maneuvering her braids to be secured loosely to the back of her head. Even her braids, so much an important part of her culture, looked foreign and strange next to the pressed silk.

"Even among my mother's people I am a stranger. But where else is there to go?"

 _Knock knock._ A delicate hand rapped twice on the thick wood of her bedroom door.

"…Come in."

The door swung in on quiet hinges, revealing a thin elf with broad shoulders and a thick mane of brown hair that fell to a trim waist. He had a sculpted jawline and high cheekbones set beneath icy blue eyes that seemed to glow.

"You! I know your face, you're the man from Bree all those years ago. The, the messenger with a warning."

"You have an excellent memory, little one. I  _am_  that messenger: Írdor."

"I…Írdor? My mother's brother. Mahal, I never met you properly before she passed. Frankly, you look nothing alike."

"That much is obvious. I'm your mother's  _half_ -brother, Aryn. But even more so I am your godfather, and I promised Elliya that I would protect her daughter as long as I am alive to do so."

"All of these years, you've known who I was, where I come from, and only contacted me once? I've been under the assumption that I had no family left—completely and utterly alone."

"Don't you assume for one second Aryn, that watching my goddaughter grow up away from my side did not break my heart. I've always known where you are, and it wounded my deeply to watch you wander from city to city, so unaware of how much I loved you and desperately wanted you in my life. But it could never have been. For decades I have committed treason on a daily basis, forging, destroying records, misleading scouting regiments, lying to any number of my superior officers to deter them from your scent. I have protected you from their wandering eyes, doing everything in my power to keep you as far away from this city as possible. And now I find you here, lounging in elven garb, of your  _own_  accord?"

"I want to be here, Írdor. This is my decision."

" _Weren't you happy in the world?_ You came here with a company of warriors, why did you not leave with them? My partner even mentioned you were close with the tallest one. Did nothing come of that?" The elf was almost frantic with confusion, his blue eyes disappointed and hands making bewildered gesticulations.

Aryn avoided his eyes, burning holes in the polished wood of the vanity. "Those circumstances have changed. The commander ordered me to stay behind and discharged me of my duties… He knows the truth, Írdor."

"What, he knows you're not a Hobbit?"

"Írdor, I haven't been honest with him or his company since the moment I met them. To make matters worse, he is prejudiced against the Elves. I've fallen out of his favor."

"So take his favor back. You can't stay here in Rivendell, Aryn, not after everything I have done to keep you away from Elrond and his council. My lord is noble and wise, but his judgment is flawed. He believes he can use you to avoid war, by whatever means are necessary."

The chuckle that flung itself from Aryn's surprised throat was more of a snort. "Me, why me? What use is a tiny half-breed whose most formidable weapon is her sharpened wit?"

Írdor stepped forward to take one of her hands in his. "A legend precedes you, my dear. The eldest of our ancestors believed that a child born of love and against all of nature's laws would possess a great power. When the time came, this child would be able to end a war in the hands of the right army."

Aryn's eyes widened and she shook her head at him. "T-That can't be me. I'm perfectly plain, I don't have any special 'powers'."

"Well, Elrond intends to find out a way to bring your power to the surface. He wouldn't harm you, no not ever, but this isn't an arrangement you could ever walk away from. If you stay here, Aryn, you will be his soldier. And to ever abandon your post would be treason. Your mother left, and do you know how the elves repaid her?"

"… A plain headstone. The ultimate shame: to lie not only dead, but unwept, unhonored, and unsung."

Írdor's face softened at the wilting woman in front of him. "You have seen her memorial?"

"Not memorial or even resting place. It was her grave. A remembrance of how the world has resented my existence since my parent's treason, and in turn doomed me to never find a home as equivalent exchange."

"No, Aryn." The elf chided, bringing her forward to be folded into his arms.

"You simply haven't found it yet. Just because your parent's homelands aren't correct, does not mean you have no place in this world. You have no future here, locked up and paraded around as a spoil of war. I've had two chances to bring you to Imladris and both times I gave you your freedom. Elliya and Karan almost gave you up to me as a newborn; they were afraid society would reject you, but I convinced them that the world was what you  _needed_. Only by braving the desert and snow will you find what you seek."

His long hand came out to stroke her freckled cheek, dotted as evidence of her time in the sun, untamed and free.

"Go back to the dwarves. Have an adventure, and live a life not capable behind these marble walls."

The Halfling rested her face against his hand, eyes widening when she felt the press of her old clothes in her lap.

"There's a red horse in the courtyard. If you hurry, you might catch them before nightfall."

* * *

"HYAA!" Aryn cried, jabbing her heels into the animal that was much too large for her. The frantic stallion tore through the grounds with a purpose, indifferent to the startled elves who threw themselves from the paths to avoid the stampede of horse and rider. A precariously placed vase and plant went shattering to the stone floor when Aryn maneuvered around a tight corner and into the palace for a shortcut.

"Oh!" A servant shouted when she flung an armful of towels to the floor in shock.

"What in…?" Elrond wondered under the sound of people shouting and the faint sound of glass breaking. He opened his office door in time to see the horse barreling down the hall, it's hooves clamoring against the marble floor.

His deep brown eyes met the gaze of the rider, her auburn hair whipping behind her. As they passed him in a mighty rush of air, a piece of fabric came fluttering down at the king's feet in their wake. Upon closer inspection, Elrond bent down to hold the velvet dress that was crumpled with minimal wear. Lindir came running after the horse, shouting after them.

"Tell the guards to seal the gates! Stop that rider!"

"No!" Elrond barked at his subordinate.

"Sir?" The young elf asked between his delicate pants for air.

The king fingered the soft velvet in his palm, staring at it with a small smile. "… Leave the gates open."

* * *

Thick chunks of dirt were kicked up by the horse's hooves as it barreled across the hills with heavy pants. Aryn could feel the animal's muscles working beneath her legs, matching her own exhaustion as the sun lay to rest in it's trough, the color only beginning to deepen.

"We have to be getting close. Just a little bit farther, please." She whispered, her hands buried in the dark red mane.

Suddenly, the horse released a neigh, rearing up skidding to a halt.

"Whoa!" Aryn shouted, bracing her fall as she landed on her bag in the dirt beside him. She rolled out of the way, head dipping up in time to watch the animal recognize his boundaries and take off in the direction of home.

"At least he's obedient." She whispered, hauling herself to feet to break into a run. The sun was going down, they shouldn't be too far ahead of her. Over the second hill, just at the crest of the sunset's color, Aryn recognized a bundle of moving shapes, silhouettes against the backdrop of pink and orange.

"Wait! WAIT!" Her voice called over a chorus of insects, only beginning to wake in the dusk.

She spied them pause, looking around for an impossible sound, and finally Bilbo whipped his head all the way around, eyes catching her sprinting form in the dry grass.

"A-Aryn! Everyone, look!"

"Aryn?" Kili asked, his brown eyes lighting up.

"Here she comes!" Oin pointed, squinting to make out the little woman.

"Haha, she's back!" Bofur hollered, holding onto his hat in the wind.

A few meters back, she ditched her pack from her shoulders, still trotting a good speed, and threw herself into the Captain's arms. He grunted with the force of catching her flying body, nearly toppling over into the dirt.

"Aryn—oof!"

Her thin arms wrapped around his neck, face buried in his shoulder and feet unable to even touch the ground. He held her suspended, too shocked to move his arms from the place at the small of her waist.

"…Can she do that?" Bilbo asked with wide eyes.

"The little lass can do whatever she wants. I've never seen anything like it." Bofur murmured under his smiling mustache.

"I'm sorry, so sorry." Aryn mumbled frantically into his coat.

"We were both so angry, I've never been that upset, I'm so sorry… I can let it go." She rattled off in incoherent strings as his thick arms held her off the ground and pressed to his chest.

"Aryn, calm down, it's all right." Thorin offered as he placed his cheek to the top of her head.

"I shouldn't have tried to force anything—we don't have to say it, just… tell me you missed me."

"I missed you." He declared into her hair, his face pressed to the juncture of her neck and bracers holding her tight against him.

"That's good enough for me."

"… Oh, how I missed you."


End file.
